Cody Oak Pallo

Dear big brother,

I have tried to write your obituary. The task has felt heavy and inaccurate like a block of floating metal. When, in truth, I feel you now as translucence and warmth and everything.

Your accomplishments in this life, the art you created, the music, the publications… they exist and they matter, rippling out as some gorgeous reflection of all you held. Even, at times, without your awareness. But how shallow listing them feels, in contrast to your laughter, imprinted and still audible to the child in me, that grew next to the child in you.

You…. Whatever essence so obviously remains now, took my tiny hand and led me into the act of creation, the life of an artist. “Look at this!” will forever remain some mantra instilled by you.

I’m looking out the window now, at the space where the plum tree was, the one that bloomed days after you passed. It was like your arm reaching out. And I wept when it was cut down. As if life in its innate ephemeral could somehow hold, all by itself, the love I feel for you. Or the love you, in that momentary form, created of this life.

Thank you for everything.

Your sister forever…. Still.

C