Last week, we celebrated my sister's marriage to a warm and wonderful man who made a beautiful speech at Amir's funeral in spite of never having had the privilege of meeting him. Yael and Thiago's party was a lovefest for all, in a room bursting at the seams with warmth and joy. My mom admitted a few days before that she felt overwhelmed about a weekend of celebrating when we are all grieving and missing my brother. I admit I felt the same way. How could we be joyous when his absence was so palpable? How could we eat, drink and dance when our sorrow is so profound?
But we did. I reminded my mom the day before the party that Amir would be fucking peeved at all of us if he knew we spent any precious time being too sad over his loss to enjoy ourselves, particularly my sister, who waited so long to find her perfect partner and deserved this party so absolutely. Amir would want us to have the best fucking time and to celebrate the joy of the occasion unreservedly.
I thought of him all night long, as I'm sure many people did. Every photo snapped should have had him in it. Every toast--he should have been there raising his glass along with the rest of us. Every song--he should have been there dancing (though, frankly, he likely would have skipped the dancing in favor of hanging out in the parking lot, shooting the shit with cousins and old friends).
I fucking hate that he wasn't there. I'm so angry that he missed out.
I am immensely proud of my sister and my parents for enjoying the fucking hell out of that party in spite of Amir's glaring absence and the gaping holes in all of our hearts. I don't believe in heaven or spirits but I was comforted knowing Amir would have been beaming with joy for our sister, the beautiful love she has found and the wonderful blended family she and Thiago have created.