What I Miss

Three weeks ago, on the anniversary of Amir's death, his girlfriend Joleen wrote me a heartfelt email in which she shared some things she misses about Amir. I've been meaning to share it here since. Her words paint a vivid picture of Amir in my mind that makes me smile and will stay with me always:

"I miss listening to music and talking with him. I miss hanging out at Club 21 eating tots with ketchup and ranch, sipping on whiskey gingers, and playing rummy.

I miss all the walks. I miss his Michael Jackson hat trick. [Ayelet's note: I will have to describe this in detail one of these days!] I miss his cigarette tricks.

I miss him ordering way too much food at restaurants and blaming it on being Jewish. [Ayelet's note: I laughed out loud at this bit of truth, as did both my mom and Yael when I shared it with them.]

I miss him eating really slowly. I miss gazing at his beautiful face. He was a cutie. I miss how sometimes he'd look up at me and smile this boyish smile and he'd blush and say something funny because I caught him. I saw his love.

I miss him talking about his family. I don't know anyone else that loved his family so much.

I miss every goddammed thing that came out of his mouth.

Here's to a beautiful soul. Here's to one of the funniest people I knew. Here's to the one person that I feel was my soul mate. He always knew what to say."

November 22

It is here. The day I've been dreading. One year since the morning I received the most horrible phone call of my life. First, it was my mom telling me Amir was in the ER and the doctors did not think they could revive him. Then, less than an hour later, word that my beautiful, beloved brother was gone. He was 38 and the center of all of our worlds.

Amir was the baby of the family, adored by Yael and I. He was a sweet, smart, loving, curious boy who loved Star Wars, music, animals and sports. My sister and I shared a room and when my brother was 4 or 5, he used to get out of his bed late at night, take his pillow and park himself in front of our bedroom door, where he'd sleep all night.

Amir made us laugh like no one else could and I will forever miss those deep-down belly laughs that only Amir could provide. It's always the clown who suffers the most sadness, right? I remember talking to him about Robin Williams' death. He related to Robin in a very personal way, having struggled with anxiety and depression most of his young life. We will never know why. 

Amir turned to prescription pills to help ease his anxiety, depression, insomnia and constant state of worry. He was meticulous about how what he took and how often. He took better care of himself than most people (worked out, ate healthy) even when depressed. His death was technically an accidental overdose, though he did not have an excessive amount of anything in his system. Just two drugs that should not have been mixed. He died of respiratory failure. His poor girlfriend was with him. She said he was sleeping peacefully until early AM, when she heard him stop snoring and called 911.

It hurts so much to know that he did not want to die. He had so much he still wanted to accomplish. He was doing well, in spite of hiding his pill use from us. He had a good job and a lovely girlfriend who cared for him. He talked about going back to finish college and changing careers. He was excited for Yael's wedding and looked forward to getting to know Thiago. They would have hit it off beautifully.

I am 44 and, if I'm lucky, I have another 40+ years of life ahead of me. I can't bear to think of all those years without Amir. He was one of my very best friends and we were truly kindred spirits. Yael and I have talked at length about our new reality as two instead of three. We were always three. The three of us were the center core of each other's lives. Now I just feel lost. And I miss him so very, very much.

Heartbeeps

This post has been sitting amongst my drafts for so long I had forgotten about it. Until now. It's these tiny remembrances from our childhood that I fear Yael and I will lose forever, as so many of them were brought to light years later by Amir.

Here is part of an email he sent to both me and Yael in July 2014:

Friday night I went to our local move revival house, the Laurelhurst Theater (A.Y. - you were there with me once) to see Steve Martin in "The Jerk" on the big screen. One of the awesome things they do when they show older movies is showing trailers beforehand for movies released around the same time.

There was a trailer for "Empire Strikes Back" that gave me goosebumps but it was "Heartbeeps" that nearly made me shit my pants. A movie I completely forgot about (for good reason). However, I know we watched it MANY times as kids. My brain kind of folded in upon itself as soon as Andy Kaufman hit the screen in that ridiculous robot makeup. And Bernadette Peters, bless her soul, totally adorable in "The Jerk," yet criminally misused in this robotic romantic comedy. Apparently, this was the movie that was supposed to make Kaufman a huge film star after his TV success. Whoops.

I, too, had completely forgotten about Heartbeeps. Shit like this forces me to wonder what other childhood tidbits Amir might have dug up that I had forgotten about. With his loss, Yael and I have lost an important part of our memory. But I will keep searching old letters and emails for these memories from Amir in order to keep them (and him) alive, at least in our minds.

One Year

Hello friends. Hard as it is to believe, 10 days from now will be one year since we lost our beloved Amir. It still does not seem real that he's gone and I have been struggling terribly these past few weeks to face this sad anniversary, even though I know it's just a day like any other. It is simply excruciating to accept that we've been without him for a full year.

In marking one year since Amir's death, I'm asking all of you again to share your stories, memories or photos of Amir--anything you'd like to share with our small audience to help us remember him. Last weekend, I spent some time with Ron Lunski (a close friend to both Amir and Jason). He shared a very funny tale of Amir Gone Wild that made me smile and got me wondering what other anecdotes are out there, waiting to be shared. (P.S. Lunski, if you're reading this, would you put your story on paper so I can share it here?)

Please email me at aprizant@gmail.com with anything you'd like to share. I hope to spend the rest of November posting remembrances of Amir from those who knew him best.

Love to all!
xoxo

Still Here

As we approach the one-year mark since Amir's death, I am finding it harder to cope with the loss. Perhaps it's because I miss him more as time goes on or because I reflect back on the mind-numbing shock of receiving that horrible phone call. Or because his death has changed my life in nearly every way imaginable and I struggle to look forward to a future without him in it. Fall is by far my favorite season, but this year it is so tinged with loss and longing that I'm filled with dread for the weeks to come. First, my wedding anniversary is this Sunday and I'm not sure how I will commemorate that sweet, happy day, which also was my late mother-in-law's birthday.

I turned 44 a few weeks ago, a day filled with longing for Jason and the way he always made my birthday special. But marking that occasion was also painful as I consider the possibility of living as many years without Amir as I did with him. Not that I don't aspire to live a long life, but I struggle to imagine all those years ahead without him (and Jason, in a different way).

After feeling numb for much of the past 11 months, I've become more sad these past few weeks. Who said grief was supposed to get easier?!? Shortly after Amir died, I began to feel a strong urge to do something more meaningful with my life, which I'm sure is a common feeling for those who lose a loved one at an early age. But, in those early days, my job was a great comfort. Going to work each day, keeping busy with projects and being among my kind coworkers helped me cope with my grief. My job also provided a lot of comfort in the first few weeks after Jason died--I needed to be in my routine in order to feel "normal" (whatever the fuck that means anymore).

But, almost suddenly, over the past few weeks, I have felt an overwhelming indifference toward my job and my routine. I just don't give two fucks for anything but my immediate family and friends. Much as I like my job, I am growing ever more intolerant of staring at three cubicle walls all day and performing my regular job tasks. Everything feels so meaningless and futile. I ache to escape the tedium of that 9-5 routine in which I have always thrived.

So, now that I've decided my job is meaningless and I can no longer stomach the daily grind, WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO? I'm not naïve enough to think I can find a way to change the world. I just want so badly to do something that honors these two beautiful souls--my brother and my husband--who did not get the chance to accomplish or contribute what they wanted or to live their lives in ways that made them proud and happy. I'm sad for us having to live without them, but I'm also overwhelmingly sad for them, for all the things they will miss out on, for all the years they should have had ahead of them.

Cool Morning

It's finally feeling like autumn here. This chilly morning, I reached for Amir's green hoodie to warm myself up and a flood of emotions came pouring over me. The hoodie doesn't smell like Amir but I can visualize him in it and it comforts me and tears at my heart all at once. I have been missing him horribly these past few weeks. Losing Jason has made Amir's death more painful and real to me in many ways, even though some days I find I'm so lost in thoughts of Jason that I don't think of Amir for hours on end. The two of them battling for space in my mind, pulling my emotions in two different directions, leaving me confused and spent--I can almost imagine them enjoying torturing me.

Music destroys me and makes me fucking nuts. So many songs remind me of each of them and there are few overlapping, which makes three-quarters of my music collection unlistenable. So, I turn to streaming music and I still get punched in the face. This morning, it was Elliott Smith, whom Amir and I both adored and who Amir related to in ways I never could. I remember talking at length with Amir after Elliott's death. Amir had five more years of life than Elliott did.

Last night, on my commute home, it was Radiohead. Neither Amir nor Jason shared my complete love of Radiohead, but they both appreciated the band's brilliance and significance. Whenever they released a new album, Jason and I would listen to it and appreciate it together, while Amir and I would talk about how they remain so relevant after all these years.

Losing my two closest friends on this planet so close together has left me feeling so lost that some days it's all I can do to remember my own name. I ache to talk to them. I ache to hold Jason one more time, to kiss him and embrace him and hold his hand. I dread the future in many ways, knowing neither of them will be a part of it except in my heart and memory. I never realized how much of grief is about dreading the future. Because of how I've grieved for Amir and how I miss him more now than ever, I know my grief for Jason is not going to get easier with time. The reality may sink in more and the day-to-day pain may lessen, but as the days and months keep passing without them, I find myself more and more distraught that they are not here and so very angry at the universe for taking them when we need them here so badly.