Andrew Clements

WHEN READERS THINK of my younger brother Jonathan Clements, they often picture the longtime Wall Street Journal columnist or the founder of HumbleDollar . They remember the clear financial advice, the thoughtful essays and the quiet wisdom that helped millions make better decisions with their money.

Costa Rica is a beautiful country, but even more beautiful are its people: Kind, welcoming and almost always smiling. Joey and I had never visited before, and we couldn't wait to discover a country that so many had spoken fondly about.

When my twin brother Nick and I sold our landscape business at the end of 2012, at the age of 52, we agreed to stay on for another three years. Looking back, that may have been one of the best retirement decisions I never consciously made.

My twin brother Nick and I had no way of knowing that becoming permanent residents of the United States would eventually lead us to careers we never expected, a business we built together, financial independence and, ultimately, an early retirement. At the time, though, it just seemed like another piece of paperwork.

As I reflect on the past year, I realize grief doesn't follow a straight path. It comes in waves. Some days bring sadness, others gratitude, and often the two arrive together.

When my 76-year-old mother-in-law was told she needed a dual-chamber pacemaker, our family's attention shifted to one thing: getting her safely through the surgery. Joey was especially anxious. Living thousands of miles away, he struggled with not being there for his mother. Thankfully, the surgery went well.

The first time I sat down for dinner with Joey's family in the Philippines, I did what I had always done at a restaurant: I picked up the menu and started deciding what I wanted to eat. I soon realized I had it all wrong. Nobody was ordering their dinner. Dishes were being chosen for the table, passed around and shared by everyone.

I recently watched the music video for Dimash Qudaibergen's Love's Not Over Yet. It tells the story of a man who becomes so consumed by work and the pursuit of success that he gradually loses sight of the people he is supposedly working so hard for.

He wrote “The Fear” when he was just 14 years old. It has nothing to do with money or personal finance, but it offers another glimpse of Jonathan long before he became the writer so many of us came to know.

As I speak, I hold both Jonathan and my sister Tory, who passed away this past August, close to my heart. They shared a deep bond, one that distance and time could never weaken. I take comfort in imagining them together again, side by side, watching over us with love.