Tricky

It’s been a year since I found out that we lost Matthew. This time has passed by in tricky ways. On one hand, it feels like we could have just talked on the phone not too long ago; certainly not over a year ago. On the other hand, it feels like an eternity since we’ve hugged or laughed together. I’m not sure when, if ever, I’ll stop feeling like I’m struggling with this loss. To say things are “easier” isn’t really the sentiment I’m feeling in reality. I don’t cry every time I think of him, although admittedly I’m crying now. I guess the reality is that the loss doesn’t feel any easier, but my ability to cope with the overwhelming waves of grief… or by ability to hide the grief I feel when I’m missing his voice… I guess you could say that piece is “easier”. But none of this is easy by definition; not by any stretch of the imagination.

I miss the way he would inexplicably use corny words like “Broheim”. I miss his 90’s fashion sense. I miss his half-smile. I miss being able to call him about random medical issues and talk through things. I miss the way he would try to understand when I would talk about work or life in general, even if it was beyond his understanding. As much as he would talk, he had really learned how to be a better listener the few years before he left us. I miss telling him about Ahsoka, or his comments in our Baby Ahsoka group on FB. I miss hearing the delight in his voice as I would describe (in probably too much detail) her latest milestone or cute moment. But mostly, I miss his laugh. It was this unmistakably familial laugh that reminded me of my dad.

I don’t think today is an anniversary I will honor each year, although these yearly reminders that he’s no longer with us are difficult. Instead, I hope that with each missed holiday, each birthday, each random memory that pops up randomly about him; that I am able to get to the point where I celebrate his life and the ways in which he made my life better for the short period of time we had him with us. But this last year, this has been by far the toughest, and I can’t ignore that. I can’t ignore the ways in which I feel as though I’m missing a huge piece of myself. I can’t help but regret the times that I took him for granted, and how incredibly hard that feels today of all days. And I can’t allow myself to shut these feelings down, even if I’d rather put them off or never deal with them at all. So today I am grieving. Today I am letting myself cry. Today I say, I miss you so much dear brother. I love you, and I hope that in some way you are watching over us with your half smile.