When I was in Bangladesh this past summer, I met with some people from the Bengal Foundation, an organization in Bangladesh that promotes art, literature, and music within the country, to see if they would be interested in my brother’s extensive comic, book, and graphic novel collection.

They were.

The wheels were set in motion and they decided to dedicate a section of their library/bookstore to my brother’s collection and honor his memory.


The past few days have been tough for me because the unveiling is around the corner. I am incredibly happy that we have found a place that will take good care of my brother’s books and allow others to enjoy what he was so passionate about.

However, the preparation for the event has been emotionally draining.

I’ve had to comb through pictures of my brother to find one to give to them.

I’ve had to write a tribute about him.

I spent hours in tears.

I could talk about my brother forever — but to have to talk about him as a memory … as someone who was with us … that reality was too big a burden on my heart. I wasn’t sure I would be able to complete the task, but it was one that was put in my hands.

Somehow I managed to get some words out and send over a selection of photos for the foundation to choose from.

The result was breathtaking.

I had not expected such a beautiful capture of his kindness and warm spirit.

As soon as I saw it, I reached for my phone to text my brother.

Yes, I still do that. For a moment, I forget that he’s dead and I reach out to call him or text him – to share something special with him – and then I remember … and then he dies all over for me. It’s a vicious cycle and one that really takes a toll on me.


The inauguration of his corner is on September 15, 2018. I’ll be flying to Bangladesh with D to attend. I am eager to see the place — but I  know the event will be punctuated by both love and sorrow.

This is the invitation: