On an anniversary: a note of remembrance and love for my brother.

I never met him.  Perhaps that will always be my life’s biggest regret, even if it means regretting events entirely out of my control.  Regardless, he, perhaps in some way as much as my parents, has had a profound effect upon my life.  So for that, I consider myself supremely lucky. 

Chris on left, Kevin on right.  Halloween.

He taught me to be humble, for there are always people making bigger sacrifices.  He taught me to treat people with as much kindness as possible, even in the face of fear or aggression, because behind closed doors I could not know or even understand the battles they fought.  He taught me to be ambitious and maintain focus, even when challenges or goals seemed impossibly out of my reach.  He taught me to never discount the underdog, because they are often filled with the most grit and loyalty.  He taught me to treat every day as a gift, because days are fleeting and each day deserves some pizzazz.  He taught me to love writing, if only for the hope of transporting others, of making events somehow more real and permanent.  I was there.  He was there.  We were here. And he taught me that it is OK, possibly even encouraged me to be silly and light, because those will be the moments that stick like superglue to the brain after all: not the melancholy; not the selfish.  Some lessons took me longer to learn than others, but the important thing is: I finally listened and he finally taught me.

His name is Kevin.  He is my brother.  And though it has been thirty years since his passing, he is very much alive.  In me.  In my parents.  In his best friend: my brother, Chris.  In my brother’s children.  And soon, in mine.

We share almost the same birthday, separated by a few years and few hours.  Truth be told, I’ve always thought that the most special thing about me.  This was a boy so full of spirit; I could only hope to follow in his footsteps, to pick up the trail where he left off, to continue onward.  To make him proud.

If it seems odd to stay that we have a close relationship without meeting, that’s OK.  I suppose in the long run, it matters only to me.  I’ve grown because of it; like a sounding board I’ve spent years bouncing off ideas and moral quandaries upon him, hoping to get something back.  And I always do.  It’s more than my subconscious, I feel. 

There have been events that occur in my life that are otherwise unexplainable.  Sure, there is such a thing as random coincidence. But for every action there exists an opposite.  And there are times when believing in something outside ourselves is very, very necessary.  We are not walking puppet theatre to some unknown, but if we are very true and very genuine, there are answers.  Even when a situation seems to begets no rational answer.  They are there.  There are things that science can prove and there are things that science cannot prove.  Yet. In the long run the circular arguments don't much matter when you know. 

And so I’ve always known he was with me.  I’m a walking testament of that, I suppose.

Of course, the entirety of this post is incredibly selfish.  That’s a testimony to him, for I know that not only my whole family, but those that had the pleasure of meeting him just a few times could write tomes about the boy he was.  I am just one of the many in a long, long line.

So I send my grateful thanks the expansive universe.  And to the seven-year-old boy who made me who I am.  Someone I can only hope to meet, some day down the road.  May he rest in peace until then…

I love you, Kevin.