Breathing Underwater

“You may leave this life at any moment: have this possibility in your mind in all that you do or say or think.” — Marcus Aurelius One night, many years ago, when I young and foolish, I got seriously drunk and became violently ill. As I hovered unsteadily over the toilet puking my guts out, my brother, Peter, stood right behind me and coached me through this intestinal nightmare. “Breathe through your nose,” he said quietly. “Breathe through your nose.” It was good advice, and I find myself employing it now, eight days after Peter’s death, when the grief becomes too much for me to handle. I turned 68 years old on Saturday, and I had gotten used to getting his phone call each year wishing me a happy birthday. Such a strange time, when I get both a birthday card and a sympathy card in the same day’s mail from my Aunt Sara, who became a widow in January when my Uncle Joe died. Talking about Peter is the past tense is eerie. I pray each morning that my parents will rest in...