I just had a dream that woke me up from sleep. I pondered the reasoning behind it.

My eyes are full of tears realizing who it was who visited me. For you see, I’ve never met this family member.

Somehow I had met this sweet dark-haired man whom I had forgotten his name. He showed up at a small family reunion we were having in my home. l could clearly see him walking up to the front steps to my door. I could see him looking around wondering if he had gotten the right address.

My family and I had just eaten and were standing around talking and waiting to give our stomachs room for dessert.

I answered the door and let this guest come in. He was a little nervous to be there. He said, “I brought you this.” It was a dessert in some sort of tray/bowl that also held a handpicked bouquet of pale yellow roses. I want to say the dessert was banana pudding. I’m not sure.

I got everyone’s attention. I told them I had met this young man earlier and wanted to introduce him. I said, “ This is… And I turned to him and also said, “ I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Anthony.” He responded to the question.

I proceeded to go all around the room introducing family members.

This is Susan my sister. Donna my cousin. My husband. And members of my stepmom’s family I did not know their names. They introduced themselves. I was a little embarrassed I did not know their names, but they were some of her great nieces or distant cousins I had never really known.

When I woke up from this dream and remembered all the details, I realized that was my brother’s name that was involved in an accident that claimed his life.

I reached over and got my phone to write down all the details, even though it will be time to get up soon and go to work.

Maybe this may seem odd to some, but I think it’s time to write about the brother I never met.

I feel like I know him from growing up hearing Moma talk about him, always with tears in her eyes. My sister, Susan, told me a lot about him. And my oldest brother, Roy and oldest sister, Glendola.

He was twelve years old when he was struck by a car, trying to cross the highway not too far from their home. He had lost some of his hearing due to several ear infections growing up and did not hear the car approaching.

I was born two and a half years later. I know Moma must have still been grieving when she was carrying me.

Anthony — Tony as he was so affectionately called, was always happy. And found pleasure in simple things. He loved to wear denim overalls without a shirt. He loved fishing. He loved to play outdoors.

When my youngest daughter was still in school, she had a classmate who was 12 and had passed away in a shooting accident. He was in her class, and she didn’t want to go to the wake.

I explained to her that he deserved to be honored. And shared the story about my brother again. I also explained she didn’t have to view him if she didn’t want to. I think it was closed casket anyways.

My daughter knew what the mother looked like, so we walked over and gave our condolences. There was a woman whom I had seen standing by her. I stood and talked with her and told her we didn’t know any of the family. That we had came because he was a classmate of my daughter’s.

The wake was actually held in a little small church just before the curve where my brother got killed.

I told this woman that I knew how it felt to lose a brother in a tragic accident just around the corner from there.

She looked at me and instantly knew who I was talking about. I told her he had passed before I got to meet him.

She said she remembered the day well. It happened somewhere near her home. I know these details may be a trigger for some, but Tony deserves to be remembered however tragic his life may have ended.

She looked at me and said, “ I hope this don’t bother you, but I’m the one who ran inside my home when I discovered what had happened. I ran and got my good quilt and laid it over your brother before the ambulance got there. He passed on impact.

I have to say I was so deeply moved by this gesture. It took a lot of bravery on her part to do something like this and not only that, but she honered my brother, sacrificing one of her best quilts.

I stood in tears thanking her for the very kind gesture she had shown to my family that day.

My Moma told me once, her and Tony were in the car riding down the road right before his death. He looked up into the clouds and saw what appeared to him as steps. He said, “Look, Moma! It’s the stairway to Heaven!”

In another incident shared with me from my oldest sister, my brother had been playing outside and came running inside calling my mom to “come see the shiny thing on the rooftop of our house.” My mom didn’t see anything, so she asked him to describe what he saw. He said it was just sitting on the rooftop watching. It was beautiful and shiny. He had no other words to describe. An angel perhaps?

I shared my dream with my sister and asked if yellow roses were my brother’s favorite. She said yes. Mom and Dad had put them on his casket. I felt chills when she told me that. She said Moma was always making banana pudding. I know she did when I was growing up.

The strange thing is, I haven’t thought of Tony in a while, and I never knew the information about him loving yellow roses.

This is for you, Anthony. I will meet you some glad day in Heaven, where we will finally get that family reunion. And don’t forget to bring the roses and dessert. I love you brother. 💙💙💙