I raised my nephew after my brother died, thinking love and hard work would be enough. Then cancer took almost everything we had left. When my 14-year-old nephew handed me an envelope from his father, I realized my brother had left one last door open.
I was only 25 when my entire life changed.
I had already learned young that life did not ask permission before taking things.
My parents died when I was nine, and my older brother, Adam, became the closest thing I had to a father, mother, and emergency contact all in one.
He was 12 years older than me, which meant he was old enough to boss me around and young enough to still make terrible decisions with me.
“Luke,” he used to say, “one of us has to act responsible.”
“Then why is it always me?” I’d ask.