On Sunday my brother died. Two years ago and just hours apart, my best friend, Warren Matthews, also died. In both instances, nature took them and at the same time saved me.

If you don't remember, Warren and I were 40 miles offshore grouper fishing when he had a massive heart attack, and with my brother Tim, pancreatic cancer took him in a blink of time. I was blessed to be able to hold each of them as they died, but without the power of nature, I am not sure that I would have been able to understand the honor that I was given.

In Warren's case, we were doing what we liked best, and on that day we struggled through dense fog to get offshore when the sun finally broke through, exposing a wide-open ocean that was ours for that particular day. I can remember the schools of mackerel foaming the water and the schools of oceanic dolphin greyhounding alongside the boat as we made our way.

It was nature that awed us that day in a way that was unlike other days. Too many things happened that day that make me believe that what happened to Warren was a strange coincidence.

Again with Tim, nature protected both of us through his death. It gave him comfort while protecting me from myself. Let me try to explain.

When it became apparent that my brother was being faced with the toughest task of his life, to let death take him, he knew that nature could help him rise to the challenge. He was in the hospital and with great clarity knew that he had to be home. It was amazing. We set up a bed in the living room of his house that overlooks the marsh and within moments after settling in to that bed, a calm came over him that only nature's glory could provide.

As my brother graciously went about his chore, I would describe the beauty of ibis gliding over the marsh, the feeling of that first slightly cool autumn wind flowing over his body and it gave him comfort like nothing else. It was his element, just like the sea was Warren's element. It held more power than any drug given to him and more power than any words spoken.

For me, it was salvation. As can be expected, I was living in a cocoon of sorts. My world was living from moment to moment with a brother that had watched over me his entire life.

When I needed moments to myself, I would walk outside and sit near a culvert that flowed into the marsh and listen to the sound of running water mingled with the whistles of an ever present osprey that had taken up residence there. If there was sadness when I sat down, the sounds and smell of nature could dissolve it with such ease.

Nature holds so many memories about my life with Tim and Warren. I have done so much reflecting and so many of those reflections revolve around the outdoors. When my family moved here in 1961, nature was what brought us here, what entertained us and what has kept us tied to the Lowcountry.

In early October, we would stand on a pathway in front of our house that lead to the beach waiting for the annual migration of butterflies. When they arrived by the thousands, my entire family would stand there and watch them flowing south past us. At Christmastime, we would load up the Ford Galaxy station wagon and head to the Florida Keys to fish each and every day for two weeks. So many memories are inspired by nature.

So life now goes on minus what I consider two of the most influential people in my life. Warren as the friend of friends and Tim, the big brother that never lost sight in that role. Knowing Warren, he is probably showing Tim the ropes with statements like "don't pay any attention to him, he can be that way sometimes." And knowing Tim as well as I do, he'll probably have to help St. Peter find his last name in the book because someone spelled it wrong. "Dowdy?" "Dautry?" "Doody?"

So you two have a big time, know that I love you and save me a place. Right now though, I have to run because nature is calling me to go catch a redfish, and after what you both have showed me, I know now that it is a call I will always need to answer.