Justin is remarkable. As Ethan’s older brother, he pretty much met or exceeded all expectations. He is kind and honest and works hard. He has a great sense of humor and a good deal of common sense. And I never write or talk about him.
Because he is alive. And that is strange.
Ethan died and so we remember him by saying all kinds of nice things about him and that makes sense. We want to say nice things when we remember dead people.
But we can’t forget to say nice things about those living people around us.
Justin is a bit of an introvert. But last year he took a big step and a big risk and put himself out there. He is pursuing a career as a race car driver. It is a narrow, risky, and competative field with no promises or guarantees- even for a hard working man with talent. So my hat is off to him.
Justin lost his brother. On the night I found out, he was living in Los Angelens and I needed him home… and in spite of having an empty gas tank and no money, he drove out. He scraped together enough loose change to make it to the bottom of the mountain and I went down there and met him. He was there when I needed him. He was there for his mother. A rock. A man.
He even moved back home. I don’t know if he knows that I needed him to do that… that I need him to be there for me. And I don’t think I have ever thanked him.
He has endured this journey with me and with his mother with grace and humility. And I have never asked him about his journey and how difficult it has been. And really, I don’t say or do enough for him.