Thank you Mark Recio

I’m learning that grief does not arrive in a way that makes sense. There are moments when the reality of losing my brother, Ed, feels painfully real, and then there are moments when my mind still cannot fully comprehend that he is actually gone. Somehow, while trying to process that news, I have also had to shift into planning mode—helping prepare for his services, talking with family, gathering memories, thinking about his eulogy, and making sure we can give him the farewell he deserves. It is a strange and difficult place to be emotionally. One moment I am focused on a detail that needs to be handled, and the next, something reminds me why we are handling all of these details in the first place. Then the grief comes rushing back. I think part of how I am coping right now is simply by doing what needs to be done. Staying busy gives my mind somewhere to go when my heart is not quite ready to accept everything that has happened. But in the quieter moments, I find myself thinking about not only the brother we lost, but also all of the life we thought was still ahead of him. Ed, one of the things that hurts so deeply is knowing we will never get to see some of those chapters unfold for you. It would have been so wonderful to see you become a husband and a father someday. I wish we could have watched you build a family of your own. My kids would have loved having more cousins to grow up with, and I would have loved watching all of those relationships form over the years. Those are the kinds of things you assume there will always be time for—until suddenly there isn’t. I find myself grieving those future memories just as much as I am holding onto the ones we already have. Watching Mom and Dad navigate this loss has been another heartbreak entirely. They are mourning their son so differently. Mom holds your portrait and sometimes there simply are no words. Instead, she finds herself going back through all the years she had with you, remembering moments and telling stories. Sometimes memories are all she can hold onto right now. As a mother myself, watching her has affected me in a way I cannot adequately explain. I look at my own boys and cannot fathom what it would mean to lose one of my babies. No matter how old our children become, I understand now more than ever that they will always be our babies. Dad has been much more reserved. Maybe it is that old idea that men aren’t supposed to cry, or maybe our dad has simply become very good at holding his tears somewhere the rest of us cannot see them. I spent nearly an hour talking with him, and at one point I could hear him getting choked up as we talked. That moment stayed with me. Yet Dad has remained extremely focused on making sure every logistical detail of Ed’s service is covered. And perhaps that is part of how Dad is coping, too. Maybe making sure everything is taken care of is his way of loving his son through the unimaginable task of preparing to say goodbye. Mom and Dad have both expressed that we will do our very best to honor you, Ed, and I could not agree more. As I begin preparing your eulogy, I have also found something unexpected in the middle of all this sadness: stories. So many stories. I am in awe of how many I have never heard before. I have been learning about moments in your life that I wasn’t there to witness and hearing memories that other people have quietly carried with them for years. Each one gives me another glimpse of you through someone else’s eyes. In some ways, gathering those memories has become part of how I am coping. I cannot change what happened. I cannot create the future memories we should have had. But I can listen. I can remember. I can write. And I can do everything within me to make sure your life is honored and your stories are not forgotten. So for now, that is what I am trying to do. I am taking this grief one moment at a time—sometimes as a sister missing her brother, sometimes as a daughter watching her parents endure an unimaginable loss, sometimes as a mother holding my own children a little closer, and sometimes simply as the person trying to handle the next thing that needs to be done. And through all of those moments, our family has felt the love surrounding us. To everyone who has reached out, shared a memory, offered a prayer, contributed, checked in on our family, or simply held us in your thoughts—thank you. Every message, every story about Ed, every contribution, and every share reminds us that we are not carrying this grief entirely on our own. We are making meaningful progress and getting closer to our goal of giving Ed the farewell he deserves. If you are able, we kindly ask that you please continue sharing this fundraiser with your friends, family, and communities. Even a simple share can reach someone we could never reach on our own, and together, those acts of kindness can make an incredible difference. More than anything, we want to help Mom and Dad honor their son and give Ed a farewell that reflects how deeply he was loved. Please keep sharing, keep remembering Ed with us, and keep the Lee Family in your thoughts as we navigate the days ahead. Every person who shares, contributes, sends a kind word, or tells us another story about Ed becomes a small part of helping our family carry this tremendous loss. From our entire family, thank you for helping us move closer to our goal, for surrounding Mom and Dad with love, and for helping us honor Ed’s life with the dignity, care, and remembrance he deserves. We may be preparing to say goodbye, Ed, but we will carry your stories with us long after the services are over. And right now, those stories—and the love of everyone surrounding our family—are helping us find our way through.