24 August 2017

The Cutest Girl Scout

A few weeks ago, I received this message via Facebook from a childhood friend of Amir's:
I don't think we ever met. I was a friend of Amir's from elemetary and jr. high school. If truth be told, he was my first crush.
I was visiting my parents this past weekend and we were watching old home movies that my parents had digitized. One was of the Germain St. School Halloween carnival. There was a scene of me (dressed as a witch) waiting in line for a game with Amir who was dressed as a Girl Scout. I must admit this brought on a brief desire to cyberstalk him. I was certain that he would be a professor somewhere or an author in a corduroy blazer with suede elbows.
I am so sorry to find him gone. Your tribute blog is beautiful and I'm not sure if this will bring you any comfort, but today there is another person in the world who is saddened by his loss and remembers him fondly.
My heart jumped a bit as soon as I saw Amir's name in her message. This is nothing new. I smiled at the memory of Amir in the Girl Scout uniform--he was 8 or 9 at the time, blond and smirking and cheeky and cuter than any other Girl Scout around.

I shared the message with my sibling-loss support group and I found one friend's reaction particularly interesting: she felt that such messages can sometimes cause more pain than comfort. I disagreed, saying I'm always happy to hear from anyone who remembers my brother, whether in a good light or not. It crushes my heart to pieces to think that my parents and Yael and I are the only ones thinking of him and remembering him every day.

My friends and I ended up having an interesting discussion on the issue of receiving messages such as this. Like me, others said they found such messages comforting and, like me, they wished they would receive them more often. I long to hear that Amir made an impact on people; that they were affected by him in some way. I long to connect with people who miss Amir and who keep his memory alive in their minds, as I do every day.

I thanked the sender for reaching out, telling her how much it means to us to hear from people who have fond memories of Amir. I never tire of hearing stories about him, talking about him, remembering him. That's the whole fucking point of this blog.

1 comment:

  1. I don't talk to your grandparents as often as I would like to. My fault. I was in Santa Monica last week and walked on Third Street, where the camera store used to be. I was flooded with 69 years of memories. I have known your grandparents since I was born and your mom came along two months later. It does not matter that we don't see each other, or talk to each other: the bond, strong because of the shared history, is real. At least for me and your grandparents it is. It was for mom too. So, a memory flooded my heart. A trip to Las Vegas with mom, maybe in 2011. All I remember is how much both Lida and Vili spoke of all three of you; but that day in particular, more about Amir. They were so proud of him. He was pulling himself together, had a job he loved, his future looked bright. It was Lida who told me in 2014, about a week after the fact, that the gentle man, with the big blue eyes and the beautiful smile was gone. ...and then Jason...Maybe being the granddaughter of a holocaust survivor made you stronger. I am not sure I could survive so much pain. Your family brings to my mind the Kennedy family: they have also pulled through so much tragedy. Despite all the sorrow accumulated in your heart and soul, I trust that with your youth and beauty, you will still have a happy ending. You certainly deserve it. Sending you love and a big hug!

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