Today is my brother’s birthday. He would have been forty-five. I was reflecting back on a story from when we were little. While on vacation, Mom and Dad had given us each a little money for the lobby gift shop. Mine blew away. Tucker, without hesitation, used his money to make sure we were both able to get something at the store. That generous nature would come to be a constant part of his character throughout his life.

But, while my brother was one of the most generous people I have ever known, he could also be one of the most selfish. While the two extremes don’t make sense, neither does the disease of alcoholism. The young boy who spent all of his lawn-mowing money on Christmas gifts and the grown man who FedExed birthday cards so you’d receive them on your actual birthday—that person was still in there refusing to allow addiction to strip him of the benevolent person he was at his core.

The best gift I received from my brother, however, wasn’t the perfectly chosen birthday cards, or the fancy winter coats, or even the exquisite leather chair. The best gift my brother ever gave to me was teaching me the incredible importance of loving people who make it hard to love them.

After thanking a friend for helping me to better understand the complexities of addiction, he said to me, “If you love an alcoholic when they die, you beat the disease.” On this first September 15th without Tucker, I want to thank my big brother for continuing our tradition of the eldest bestowing the finest gifts. Thank you for teaching me to give my loved ones the dignity to live their lives without trying to fix, mend, repair or change them. I love you. Happy birthday.

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