Yesterday was a tough day for me, the 3rd anniversary of the death of my little brother Ethan.
I am fine, and fine and then a few times a year something triggers me and I am left crying into my soft boiled eggs.
On Monday a woman who is staying here, shared that her husband died 5 years ago. She was upbeat about the conversation as she translated Portuguese into Spanish so we could understand.
Now she travels and teaches impoverished kids how to make beautiful crafts. She is only mid forties and is a warm, gorgeous woman who seemed very concerned that I was sobbing at her news. I tried to explain that she hadn’t made me cry. John made me laugh later when he said “I was piggy backing off her grief “.
The week rolled in and we have been plugging away at our little projects, walking some resident dogs and enjoying the food. Then yesterday, I was working out the time zones and remembered when I got the call at the boarding gate in the airport just after 6am – he had died.
I have a feeling that I repress most of the intense sadness I feel. Should I be more sad, more of the time? I am not entirely sure what it is supposed to look like, but I am sure flippant is not it.
Strangely, I feel little anger for the pharmaceutical company that made the drug that weakened his heart so dramatically, nor the doctor that prescribed the drugs without considering his history. It is a broken system and he is one of countless victims.
Anyway, it is now three years without my closest, lifelong friend and I miss him sometimes, every day. I waited all day yesterday to watch the video I made of him when he died. I was worried it would set me off in a fit of depression but it was the opposite, I laughed at some bits and got lost in the fun that is Ethan and the happy times we had.
I am pretty sure that is how he would want to be remembered anyway.