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I carried you last

       

      I remember when my mom asked me if I wanted to bury my brother or cremate him. She gave me the option, and without going into the detail of why I picked the cremation--I did. We hadn't decided where we were going to bury Andrew knowing that we have no real ties to Tulsa. My family had always been somewhat nomadic. So, when my mom came to me one late night and suggested burying him at Conception cemetery I knew it was meant to be. But it was 13 days later before we interned him.
      Tomorrow is the feast day of St. Augustine, one of my brother's favorite theologians, and the day we buried him. Every year on this day, my brother would call and say, "Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you..." It was an excerpt from St. Augustine's "Confessions." And how apropos that we got to bury him on this day of all days.
      I remember getting ready on this early Saturday morning. We were invited to have morning Mass with the guys, my family and friends present, and then we would process to the cemetery to do the internment. I will never forget this day! I remember standing at the top of the stairs in St. Mauer hall feeling completely loved and supported. It wasn't until I walked into the room that there before me sat my brother, in a box...a small black box. It was all that was physically left of him.
      I can't tell you how disturbing and humbling this was. We had Mass with him there, and I don't even remember saying anything during that Mass. I was too dumbstruck. All I could think about was right before we had gone in, Father Albert had asked me if I wanted to carry Andrew to the cemetery. I had told him no. Flatly. I didn't want to do it. I couldn't do it. I knew it was going to be too hard. But during that Mass I couldn't get the thought out of my head that it was the last thing I could do for him.
      All my life my brother carried me. He carried me when I couldn't carry myself. Not once do I remember him not giving up himself for my sake, and I flat out refused to carry him the last 500 yards of his earthly walk. I realized at that moment the difference between him and me. I was being selfish. I was taking my own pride and placing it above him.
      So, I did it. I carried that small box and every step--with all the seminarians, my parents, my closest friends behind me, supporting me--I wept. I believe it was the greatest thing I have ever done for Andrew, and he wasn't even here to experience it. In all honesty, I didn't do it for him. I did for myself. Perhaps that was selfish, but I was the one in those last steps that got to repay him for every kissed scraped knee, mended broken heart, joyous laugh, thoughtful gesture, serious conversation, and knowing look that he ever bestowed upon me. It was such a small gesture but it was the least I could do. I needed to do this. I had to. 
      And when we placed him in the ground, those words came to mind, "Late have I loved you..." Because I felt and still feel that I could have loved him so much more. I could have whispered "you are the greatest person I have ever known," just one more time. Just one more time. 

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