I am proud to say Bob Kos is my brother.

From the time he was 2 years old and I was 7, when he went blind from a brain tumor and we didn't know if he would make it through surgery, I've been scared to face this day. I was always so scared to lose him.

But this day is here, and my little brother has given me more than enough strength to know that I haven't, that I can't, and never ever will, lose him.

And neither will any of you. Especially you, Steffi (my Mom). We haven't lost him.

As a good friend said to me in a phone message: "He is a ray of light and now he is in the light." He's here, I know that.

Just as his dear friend and caregiver, Marlene, had a dream only two nights ago that we were all in this Memorial Service and Bob was sitting up front by the urn smiling at all of us with the most amazing love and joy on his face that she has ever seen.

I know he came to her so she could tell us to celebrate his freedom today and celebrate his life, though we may shed tears because it is the DNA's way of honoring our loved ones whose spirits leave their bodies.

Something amazing began to happen over the last days, in the last week when we knew Bob was preparing to pass over. I saw such a tremendous outpouring of love all around, from him to all of us and from us to him.

It was so big that it transported me to a new level of understanding about how big our love really was.

Not just the love that he and I shared as brother and sister, though that was so magnified in those last days and hours - but suddenly I began to experience the immensity of the love within each of us and the love within the human family - All One People.

It lifted me to a whole new level of the experience of compassion and the desire to serve. This is the greatest gift my brother ever could have given me.

I had been praying to understand how to serve in a much bigger way that was not held back by the "little me" that didn't want to be bothered.

And because I saw how Bob's last days were affecting so many people so profoundly and how his life had made a difference to so many, I knew there was something grander happening around us.

And it made me think of the renowned author Joseph Campbell whose eloquent work in mythology brought us "The Hero's Journey." Campbell's books inspired George Lucas in making The Star Wars series - and the same theme is played over and over again in many movies, like the Matrix. I couldn't help thinking that Bob's journey had awakened and inspired the Hero's Journey in each of us…

I watched Bobby develop courage and strength and patience and perseverance over and over again.

I watched the super-human determination it took for him to greet another day and give another smile, when it had to be the hardest thing he could do with a body so racked with pain.

I watched his determined courage for 10 hours on his last night - the longest night of my life - as he went on the ultimate adventure toward breathing his last breath…

Bob loved to watch television and movies. And he loved to laugh at funny stuff. One of our oldest family friends, Tony, would always call from Los Angeles and remind him about the cat called Jinx, an old cartoon Bob loved, and they would laugh together and say: "I hate those mices to pieces!"

I know Bob was living vicariously through all those shows and all those characters. Most stories had their share of action heroes and battles between the good guys and the bad guys. And of course he always loved seeing the good guys win, over and over again.

But I also think that on some level those stories and images were reminders to him of the heroic nature of his own inner journey - his struggle to come to terms with his own self-doubt and fears.

His journey was one each of us shares every day.

There is a familiar theme in paintings and before I mention it, I would like to tell you something personal.

On our last day with him, he told me that he wanted the family to be alone together. (Somehow we all knew it would be his last evening.)

So at 8 o'clock Laura, my dear god-daughter, finished her caregiving shift and her mother, Lynette, picked her up with a present in hand as a final goodbye for Bob. (She just knew.) Then they left and we began our ritual to watch a movie together as a family. Just Bob, in his favorite living room chair, Steffi and me.

He wanted to see a comedy and that's what we chose. The instant the movie was over, Bob went into a coma.

At one point, I was holding both his hands as I knelt in front of him, with my eyes closed in meditation, and, to my surprise, I vividly saw the Archangel Michael above his head.

Of course, Bob's middle name is Michael, and so I told him what I was seeing. He indicated to me by his expression that he had heard me…

Back to the familiar theme in paintings. The theme that I'm sure you've seen is - Michael slaying the dragon. I read somewhere that, "In our own lives, the dragons we meet are not so much breathing fire on us as breathing fire in us. Our dragons might be an illness or a loss or a great fear. Or perhaps we have to conquer self-doubt. Slaying the dragon can be an important metaphor for our inner quest for peace, truth, love, and wisdom."

I believe that was Bob's real gift to all of us. We saw him slaying the inner dragons and we were awed at his courage and strength.

Many men told me that Bob was the most courageous man they knew. I understand why they said that.

Perhaps Bob is asking: "What are your dragons?"

Maybe your hero's journey involves learning to believe in yourself and your ability to play your part.

Maybe like Simba, in The Lion King, you may need to grow into and accept your ability to lead others, to overcome guilt and confusion.

Joseph Campbell taught that "the hero's journey is primarily a journey to the center of yourself, an inner journey to wholeness and understanding."

We can see our entire life as a hero's journey, no matter how ordinary we may think our own life is.

And at the end of our life we can do, what I believe our beloved Bob did, look back in awe and wonder and compassionate understanding at all that we have learned and experienced.

Often when someone would comment about how much I would do for my brother and my mother, and how admirable that was, I would think how natural it was to give so much.

To close, I would like to read the contents of a card I wrote to Bob this past Christmas, when I knew it would be our last one together. I want to read it because I think it says something about him and about us that was important for me to share today:

To send condolances or tributes,
go to www.goodbyebob.com