This is my hero and I, circa 1984:
His name is Bill, and he's my older brother:
These old family snapshots were taken by my mother who was the camera-enthusiast in our family. She wasn't a pro, but she often had a great eye for photos.
Though I never picked up a camera myself until a few years after she passed, she always encouraged me to take up the hobby (possibly so we could share it) and is a large part of the reason I am where I am today.
She had a particular knack for capturing the special relationship I had with my teenage big brother.
Bill taught me how to build a D&D character at age 7.
He taught me the Vulcan death grip and the Vulcan salute.
He is the first person who exposed me to good music, and his tastes still shape my playlists.
He was a helluva high school wrestler, and he taught me how to defend myself in a time when women's safety meant "Take a man with you."
He taught me how to cope with loss and grief by helping me pen goodbye notes to pets whom we were tasked with burying when they passed.
He showed me how to stay level-headed when those around me are caught up in emotions.
He taught me some basic maintenance on a VW Beetle, and how to listen to Weird Al at an ungodly volume.
Bill is the kind of man who follows a path of humanist philosophy that just comes naturally to him. He is a man who raised a son who wasn't biologically his own even after the relationship with they boy's mother ended - loyal and driven to keep his promises.
And he is a proud, proud grandfather. There was a new spark of life in him, a bit of a bounce in his step, for a long while after his grandson came along.
The last time I saw Bill, I was only 3 months away from having Baby Wolfe, and he told me he couldn't believe his baby sis was becoming a mother, how proud he was of 
and I, how impressed he was with our growing careers. He said he knew mom would be proud, too.
Three weeks later, he was gone, suddenly. He never got to meet my son.
But the Universe, with its whimsical ways, decided to give me a gift to help me say "goodbye". When I held Baby Wolfe in my arms for the first time, we were all in tears in the delivery room because Baby Wolfe held an uncanny resemblance to my big brother (It was the nose!).
Four years later, I still sometimes catch a glimpse of him when Baby Wolfe is running around the house.
The image below was created about a year before he passed by
It captures 4 generations of men in my family - my father, Bill, Bill's son, and Bill's grandson - and was displayed by his casket at the funeral. It now hangs in my father's home.
Though these photos were only snapshots and a fun experiment at the time, we had no idea what life had in store, and they are now priceless. More than priceless, if that's even possible.
At Bill's funeral, I wrote an note on the back of a 33 year-old printed version of photo #1 and left it in his hand to rest in peace with him.
It said, "I love you, big brother. Say hello to Mom for me. "
