Nik was very proud of his Christmas cactus, which blooms at Christmas. After he died, it donned three flowers that looked like angel wings. On my 50th birthday (in February), it bloomed again. It continues to dazel and amaze every Christmas, and after my brother died a couple of weeks ago, it sprouted with more than 15 flowers. Nik is letting me know that he is with his Uncle Rex.

My Brother, Rex Mayo

Three days before I set off to set sail on the Liberty Clipper, a vintage tall sailing ship reminiscent of a pirate ship, Rex Mayo, my 54-year-old baby brother, dropped dead from a massive heart attack. We were in a state of shock, as Rex was in good health and had no signs of heart problems. My family insisted I embark upon my vacation, which I had saved up for and planned for a year.

With mixed emotions, I left on my journey, worried about my sister and my mom, and unsure as to whether or not I would be able to enjoy myself. While the ocean soaked up my tears, my family made arrangements for the memorial.

I returned, rested and a bit sunburned, with a fresh perspective on life, and new insights into the grieving process. It felt like I had gone on a walk about (sail about), and that my brother had taken the journey with me. We talked about old times, we swam in the blue waves, and we walked on sandy pink beaches. Rex assured me that he was happy I had gone on my trip, because according to Rex, life is short, and right now is the time to step up to the plate and embrace it.

The family is gathering for the memorial, and our tears continue to fall, because we are left missing the brother, the son, the Uncle, the friend, the cousin, that always had our back. His early departure leaves a gaping hole in our lives, and we are left trying to figure out how to get along without him. And then I see him on the aft of the Liberty Clipper, helping the crew pull up the main sail, and he is smiling, the sunshine a halo above him, the waves dancing in blue, and I know he is free.

My brother didn’t care about material possessions. He cared about people, and kids, and family, and friends. He didn’t hold grudges, he worked hard, and he was always willing to help. And he never asked for anything in return. Today, I will honor my prince of a brother by acting with kindness and compassion, by reaching out to help others, by forgiving early and often, and by remembering to live in the moment, here and now.