On grief, love, and loss.

Six years ago this day I was in Las Vegas, having an amazing time. My big brother was heading in for a routine shoulder surgery that day. He had some scar tissue that needed cleaning out after he tore it up a few months before.

He was supposed to be under anesthesia for no more than about 10-15 minutes.

He never woke up.

I was sitting in a restaurant, sipping on a beer and waiting for a plate of nachos when my sister called. I knew something was wrong, and answered. All she could manage was, "We lost Joe ..."

As sci-fi fans, we often talk about parallel universes, quantum entanglement, and different timelines (even if, like me, you're big on Handwavium). I lived that moment. A minute before it happened I could've said, "You know, in some other universe, I'm getting a call right now that tragedy happened."

Rotten luck ... I ended up on that timeline, watching the happier branch speed off into the distance, less and less visible as I looked around, frantically searching for some kind of impossible way back. This wasn't a theme park or a carnival, and throwing up doesn't get you off the ride.

That singular event changed everything. I don't recognize the person I was before that loss. I'm more melancholic now. A little more aimless from time to time, and more self-critical. Anxiety hits more frequently, and unfortunately I've come to know and understand what panic attacks actually feel like, having experienced my first about 6 months after he left us.

It changed me as a man, a father, a brother and a son.

The Vegas vacation was a nightmare for an additional two days. I was unable to get an early flight out, so spent 48 sleepless hours wandering around casinos and malls watching people laugh and have a great time. I was numb to all of it. I suppose in retrospect it was a good thing being in a place where it didn't matter if you were awake at any hour, there was always a distraction.

His loss fueled me in finishing my debut novel, The Caretaker. Our last conversation on the phone was me telling him about the book, a few thousand words in, and he was super excited and happy for me and wanted to hear more about it once I got back from Vegas.

Six years, and I still don't have a handle on it. It still affects my every day, and I still feel like I'm sleepwalking through moments, sad or joyous.

Everybody knew my brother, he was popular as could be - a high school football champion running back, a businessman always hustling, a dedicated father. He was my hero and my friend, and occasionally my nemesis, but only because he recognized my talents and expected the best from me. I consider to this day my greatest writing accomplishment to be his eulogy, which I delivered through plenty of tears to a packed church about a week after he passed.

I talk about this experience often, many of you have heard it all before. I'm very open about how difficult it has been in the hopes that being vulnerable about it will help people too afraid to crawl out from under grief's shadow. This singular event is the reason I write stories that have a foundation of complex and heavy character relationships.

Everything I write is about my brother.

In The Caretaker, I poured the pain and anger onto the pages.

In SPACE PEW PEW, I poured the bond, the love, and the humor onto the pages.

In Joy Jitsu, I tell the story, and share the journey of attempting to heal from it.

Which brings me to today.

I'm going to be 50 this year. My brother was 54 when he died. I'm catching up (he was 10 years older), and I have more to write and more to express, but today the headspace is poor.

I'm just feeling a bit defeated. I know it'll pass, though.

The thing is, I knew the day was coming. And like the others, I'm prepared for it by expecting the tears, expecting the malaise, and knowing that what I'm going to need is to just go quiet for a day or two to take care of myself. I've been through it enough that I just treat it like a to-do list. Shed tears? Check. Wake up with panic? Check. Lose the appetite? Check. Find distractions? Well, I'm glad it's superbowl weekend. My brother and I were lifelong Eagles fans, he used to take me to games at the old Vet stadium in Philly when the team sucked and it didn't matter because we were brothers and bonding.

I'll be back around in a couple of days, folks. And if you've read this, I appreciate you, and I have one singular and very important piece of advice for you that I hope you'll heed...

Everything can change in the blink of an eye. If you've lost touch with a loved one, send the text or make the call today. If you're nervous or worried about taking a step forward - whether it's starting your YouTube channel, finishing the book, or taking the plunge into something you've always wanted to do - do it.

I'd give anything for one more moment with him, but I jumped off that timeline 6 years ago. Don't be the person speeding away on your own tragic timeline filled with regret that you didn't love and appreciate the people around you openly.

See you on Monday.

🙏