A Eulogy for My Brother

The Scriptures remind us there is a time and season for everything under the sun. A time to laugh and a time to cry, a time for joy and a time for pain, a time to be born, and a time to die. If there’s one thing we can all know for certain, it’s that we will have a first day and a last. Our lives consist of the days within that interval. We ought to make the most of these lives we’ve been given. The measure of a person’s life is not made up of wealth or possession, we come into this world with nothing, and we will leave it with nothing. The only thing we take with us is what we have given out. In this way, Jesus tells us to lay up our treasures in heaven.

As I share reflections on my brother’s life, I invite us all to think about our lives. How are we showing our love? What are we giving out? What is your life?

Thomas Westerman was born on August 27, 1991. God handcrafted him, giving him a beautiful smile, an affectionate heart, and a sharp mind. The same God who brought Thomas into this world called him out of it on September 16, 2022, at the young age of 31. He struggled with substance abuse throughout his adult life. Although our family desperately wanted to help him regain stability and health, we knew that Thomas needed to pave his path through life. In the end, his choices caught up to him. Thomas had asked Jesus into his heart as a child. But similar to Thomas in the Bible, he had his doubts. Still, our family chooses to trust in a good, compassionate, and just God. Our faith rests in Jesus Christ, and we hope to see Thomas again someday.

Thomas was a son, a brother, a grandson, a cousin, and a friend. But to me, Thomas was my twin. Now, we weren’t swapping lives, cheating on tests, or messing with people because they couldn’t tell the two of us apart. We were fraternal, meaning we looked as much alike as any brothers close in age. Whenever we told people we were twins, they rarely believed us. But there was something underneath that kept us closer than ordinary brothers. He knew me, and I knew him… better than anyone would understand.

Even though we didn’t look alike, we played the role of terrible twins—perhaps too perfect at times. We did the dumbest stuff as kids. During the summer, we’d invent interesting ways to climb up the side of the house and have water gun wars on the roof. I remember coming home from Sunday School and going into the backyard to reenact the stories we had heard that day. We’d fight over who got to be David and who had to be Goliath, then proceed to hurl small stones at each other’s heads. When we couldn’t play outside, we’d bring the roughhousing indoors and play in the house, where chaos and destruction would abound. I remember my mom standing there stunned, muttering something like, “And this is why we can’t have nice things.”

Thomas often sought opportunities to make money. For example, there was the animal skeleton museum. We had joined the Cub Scouts and were cleaning up the trash surrounding one of the local lakes. They told us not to touch any dead animals we found–which was more of an invitation to touch all the dead animals we found. Thomas was fascinated by these things. He wanted to understand how they were put together and thought everyone else would like to know, too. We snuck armfuls of carcasses out of the woods that day, a fox, a few fish, a squirrel, and a couple of chipmunks, then brought them home to clean and put on display. It was my job to create the museum structure. I used a few dozen red bricks my dad had left over from our walkway to construct several platforms, then carefully laid out the reconstructed skeletons. Thomas devised a way to spread the word to the neighbor kids and charge admission to see our collection. Unfortunately, his plan was snuffed out when my mom caught wind of it, literally! One whiff of the large Rubbermaid container we used as an animal mortuary and our treasures became trash.

The most profitable schemes we had were found when our mom brought us along on her errands. Clearly, we couldn’t be trusted home alone. We’d go to Costco and gorge ourselves in the local cuisine of free samples while scouring the ground, looking for loose change. More lucrative was the eye doctor’s waiting room, where we could dig our hands down the sides of the seat cushions for coins that slipped from peoples’ pockets. The furniture had upholstery on the bottom. I would go underneath to bounce the coins from the middle of the fabric toward the sides where Thomas’ hands were waiting to scoop them up. One day, Thomas had the brilliant idea of bringing our pocket knives and tearing tiny holes in the chairs, significantly increasing our earnings. On that day, we went home with over $10 in change. Unfortunately, one of the receptionists noticed and called my mom once she discovered the damage we had caused. Our pocket knives could no longer accompany us on errands.

Thomas wasn’t the most athletic kid. When we were little, we played basketball and soccer and swam for the Cedar Lake Hub team. He was never the star player, and he rarely won a race. But what he lacked in athleticism, he made up for with endurance and sheer determination. Think less of a swift stallion and more of a stubborn mule. In swimming, the best swimmers are placed in the middle lanes while the weaker ones would go to the outside. During one of Thomas’ races, I remember listening to the commentator calling out the battle between lanes three and four. Then he suddenly shouted, “Wait! What’s this coming up from lane zero?” It was Thomas. Somehow he got it into his head to go all out that night. His freestyle was far from perfect. He frantically pulled forward with one arm while the other barely left the water. This caused him to go in a zig-zag trajectory down the lane. But even with all the cards stacked against him, his strength of will powered him to first place.

Thomas and I did everything together. We played on the same teams, had the same group of friends, and usually got matching gifts on birthdays and Christmas. We were inseparable. It was hard not to draw comparisons. My mom noticed this and decided to have Thomas do some things independently. He enrolled in a Taekwando class without me. It was perfect for him, and he started advancing through the ranks and connected with his instructor. It was difficult for me not to be included, but I was proud of his hard work in the class.

The most challenging separation came when we moved on to High School. I went to Morris Knolls, while Thomas went to the Vocational School. Things changed quickly after that. He made new friends. His favorite color changed from green to black. Everyone called him Thomas when we were kids, he insisted on it, but all his new friends called him Tom. His interests changed, and it felt like I was slowly losing my brother. One day he came home from school, and I could tell something was very wrong. He fell as he got to the front door. I went out to help him, and he reeked of alcohol. The kids on the bus had dared him to drink a bottle of vodka. I carried him to his room and laid him on his side. He woke up sometime later, horribly sick. I didn’t know what to do. Do I rat him out and tell my parents what I knew? I didn’t want to see my brother get in trouble, but I didn’t like to see him so sick, either. I was scared. I covered for my brother and kept his secret. The first of many such secrets I would keep for Tom.

The next few years were hard for my family. As Tom’s lifestyle changed, it became harder and harder for us to connect. It’s like we were speaking a different language. Growing up, we shared everything, but his choices and actions seemed to drive a wedge between us. But still, whenever he introduced me to one of his friends, they’d share some version of the same sentiment that we were “definitely twin brothers.” It became apparent that the other person had been heightened to a mythological status even in our separate worlds. People who had never met both of us together had a hard time believing that the other one existed. But once you got us in the same room, the bond we shared was visibly thick.

I was encouraged by my mother. She never failed to accept Tom for who he was, no matter what. She always loved him with no strings attached, which made it easier for me to accept him, too. Eventually, Tom and I began to rebuild our relationship. I still didn’t approve of his choices, but I learned how to love him despite our differences. Some of my fondest memories with him were when we’d host outdoor barbecues with his friends. We’d pick a weekend when my parents were away (usually with their permission), buy a bunch of meat, and have a feast. Tom loved to cook. It was one of the ways he showed his love for others. We’d make these amazing gourmet burgers with bacon, apples, and chunks of cheese. Tom even got me into putting cinnamon on my burgers. I know, cinnamon? But don’t take my word for it, try it yourself, you won’t regret it.

At one of these backyard barbecues, we served over a dozen people. We had brats, burgers, ribs, and corn. It was so much food—but Tom’s friends could eat! When we cooked, Tom and I seldom ate the food ourselves. We were so busy ensuring other people got what they wanted that our hunger was the least of our worries. But on that day, we had a special dish tucked away for when the crowd died down. We bought this beautiful steak. If memory serves, it was over $30. As the evening started to wind down and everyone had their fill, we put the steak on the grill. It smelled amazing, and I couldn’t wait to sit and enjoy what I felt was a well-deserved meal. But, just as I pulled it off to cool, Joe arrived. Joe was recovering from an issue with his leg. He hobbled down the side of the house, tired and hungry. He had missed most of the food, all that was left was that prized steak. Tom scooped it up without hesitating and handed it onto a plate to Joe. I couldn’t believe it! My dinner! And he gave it away just like that? At first, I was furious, but when I stopped and looked at my brother, I saw a smile that stretched from ear to ear. He was overflowing with joy as he watched his friend scarf down every last bite.

There was something about that goofy grin that was uniquely Tom. He was always smiling. He loved to laugh and make others laugh, too. He was kind, selfless, generous, and caring. And he always believed in the best of people. In recent years. Tom was living off the grid in Nevada County, California. We’d catch up occasionally, and he’d share about something catastrophic that had happened. One time he had his truck stolen from right under his nose. Then, a week later, he got a replacement vehicle, which was stolen too! When he told me, I couldn’t help but think, “How could you let the same thing happen twice in one week?” But that was Tom. Some might say it was foolishness, but he chose to trust and believe in people. Someone once said, “Tom was the kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his back, even if it was the last one he owned.” 

True to his Westerman roots, he loved to serve others who were in need. Living off the grid, many rely on alternative energy for power. Tom used the skills he learned as an electrician to repair broken solar panels for his neighbors and friends, never charging a dime. He didn’t leave behind many material possessions, but there remains in all our hearts a warm love from being loved by him.

Tom was born, he lived, and he died. With this loss comes great heartache and the harsh reminder that life is fleeting. Yet, how many of us live as though death is a long way off? We pay more attention to our possessions than the condition of our souls, the only thing that truly counts.

Death is an end to life, a life filled with opportunities to love and give to others for the sake of Jesus Christ. As I said before, the Scriptures tell us there is a season for everything under the sun. A time to be born and a time to die. The mere fact that we are born demands the ending that we will die. A lifetime in eternity hangs upon our choices during the brevity between birth and death.

But death is not something that we should fear! God so loved the world that he sent his one and only son so that whoever believes in him will not perish but have everlasting life! Jesus, God’s son, tells us, “let not your hearts be troubled, you believe in God, believe also in me. For I go to prepare a place for you.” He has not only prepared a place for us but also revealed to us the path we must take to get there.

Jesus tells us that there are two roads in this life. One way has a wide gate, and many will walk through it, but it leads to death and destruction. The other is narrow, and only a few will travel through it, but the narrow gate leads to life. Jesus is that narrow gate. He tells us that anyone who wants life must deny themselves, pick up their cross, and follow him.

Have you ever wondered how good you must be to get into heaven? The truth is, none of us could ever be good enough. It’s pointless to try. But going to heaven isn’t about living the perfect life, free from mistakes. It’s a matter of if we know Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior.

Jesus has gone to prepare a place for us, but we must choose to live for Jesus if we are to receive that place. None of us can know the day or hour when we will leave this world. But Jesus has already died on our behalf so that we might have life. Therefore, we must confess our sins and yield our lives to him. Ultimately, the only decision that will matter is what we do for Jesus Christ and His claim over our lives. For only what’s done for Christ will last.

The decision to live for Jesus will matter a thousand years from today. No one can make that decision for us. We must invite God into our lives and decide to allow God to live in us. I challenge you to make that decision before you stand before God to give an account for your life.