From a very long time ago:

The annoyingly cute kid (mostly annoying) in the back is yours truly.

The two devastatingly handsome gentlemen in the front are my brothers.

The one on the right is Ron, or Ronnie, or (as I’ve known him all my life) Bubba.

Bubba died Sunday, at the age of 78.

A self-described “vagabond poet”, many of you probably read his poems when I posted them last year. You know: the ones “written down by jeremiah moon”.

He died from PSP, or Progressive Supranuclear Palsy, a rare and incurable disease that attacks the brain stem. In its early stages, its symptoms mirror those of Parkinson’s Disease, so it’s often misdiagnosed. He probably had it for years, but wasn’t actually diagnosed with it until last year.

Like I said, there’s no cure. You don’t ever get better; you only get worse.

Watching Bubba go downhill, especially in the last month, was hard. It was heartbreaking. He lived alone, but his daughter, his girlfriend and I would see him every week and do what we could for him. He managed pretty well on his own until recently, but it had come to the point of him needing to be moved somewhere that he could have round-the-clock care.

If there’s one good thing about this, it’s that he went before that happened. He died at home, like he wanted.

Bubba and I shared a love for movies, music and writing. We both did a little acting; me in school, him in school and community theater. He was the more talented writer, I always said. His poetry is so life-affirming, so full of the many joys and wonders to be found in just being alive.

And through those poems, he will always be alive.

He once told a girl in high school he was conceited; She didn’t believe him.

“Ask around,” he told her.

Days later, she reported back to him, somewhat amazed, “Everyone I talked to said you are conceited!”

“So, why were you conceited?”, I asked him.

He said simply, “Thought I was cool.”

Well, you know what? I thought he was cool, too. Both my brothers are. The oldest one, at 80, is loving the good life in the paradisiacal surroundings of Costa Rica, and I’m quite happy for him.

But he, and I, will both miss our brother Bubba a whole lot. Everyone who knew him will.

I encourage you to go to the Cure PSP website to learn more about these diseases, and how you can help in the search for a cure.

I leave you with this song by Bruce Springsteen, written for a dearly departed friend, that’s been playing in my head since Bubba passed. It’s a perfect send-off to my wonderful, funny, smart, creative, talented, loving, giving, cool brother.

“Terry’s Song”, Bruce Springsteen  

Bubba, I love you. Always.

Your kid brother.