Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I learned this morning that my brother, my only sibling died.  The police officer on the phone was gentle and kind.  I knew right away when I saw the ID number on the phone.  He was skilled and practicing right speech, and as far as I'm concerned everyone I've talked to was speaking rightly, because they were trying to comfort me, and anyway I wasn't paying much attention to the words, just their intentions.  Right speech in such a case is just calling back and letting me know they care and are thinking about me.

I now will fly far away to try to arrange burial or cremation, and again, the words won't matter.  My grief is beyond words, inexpressible, and for a while there will be little comfort.  This was a dear man who had a tragic life and deserved better.  He stopped speaking to me 13 years ago, though we exchanged cards on birthdays and at Christmas.  His silence was a kind of speech, and came with a long letter to me saying he loved me but would not be communicating again.  I waited.  He'd stopped speaking to me once before for two years when our father died.  I respected his wishes, prayed for him, and tried not to take it personally.  I'll never know why he cut off communication with any of the family.  Some of my aunts and uncles attempted to call him, but no picking up. 

Now he will go to his grave a complete mystery to me.  But maybe everyone is a mystery to everyone else.  There will be no final words or healing, as there was when my Dad was dying.  My brother lived alone and died alone.  It breaks my heart.