It's been a while since I've written anything, so my brain is full to the fucking brim of thoughts I need to get out. Last week was 6 months since Jason died, which my brain has not absorbed. Hell, I still haven't absorbed the fact that Amir is gone and I've had 14 months for that to sink in. What the fuck?
I spent part of my afternoon going through old letters and cards, having recently bought a new scanner to take another step in preserving them (other than keeping them sealed in plastic, inside a box). It's so heart-wrenching to read these things now, because it only reminds me how fucking brilliant a writer Amir was. Where his cards and letters were sarcastic and funny, Jason's were romantic and lovely. Both of them were witty and brilliant beyond compare.
For today, I'm not going to share Amir's brilliance. I'm going to share his sweetness, as evidenced by this birthday card he made for me (in pencil) when I turned 13. He was 8.
He was so fucking cute.
(With apologies to Yael.)
My very first concert was David Bowie's Glass Spider tour. I was 15, my cousin Gill took me and it was unforgettable. I'd enjoyed Bowie's music for years but his music took on deeper meaning when I saw his theatrical and enthralling live show for myself. A few years later, I took 14-yr-old Amir and his friends Mike and Ryan to Bowie's Sound + Vision tour--another awesome experience (and a great memory!).
Another memory: I was about 10 when Dad brought home Aladdin Sane on vinyl and I remember sitting on the living-room floor with Amir, poring over the bizarre artwork (along with that of Dark Side of the Moon and Physical Graffiti). Dad also introduced us to Space Oddity. Guess it's time to say thanks!
Back to now. I'd listened to Bowie's new album Blackstar on Spotify last Friday at my desk and I found it so mesmerizing I couldn't focus on my work. I hadn't listened to new Bowie music in a decade but I was compelled to download Blackstar after reading a review describing the album as Bowie's pondering his death and mortality, two subjects I've become obsessed with lately.
I was so moved by Blackstar, I bought the album on iTunes, something I rarely do anymore. I spent a quiet, reflective weekend listening to the album, wishing I could share it with Amir and discuss its themes with him. As Yael so eloquently put it in a text Monday: "I never would have understood what [Bowie] was trying to do without Amir."
Hearing the news of Bowie's death Monday morning, I yelled back at the radio, "What?! NO!" I'd spent the weekend listening to his farewell! The minute I heard, I ached to call Amir. The news would have hit him hard. I wanted to cry not so much because Bowie was gone (though that stings plenty) but because it hurts so fucking much not to be able to share it with Amir. I want so badly to talk to him about it. It is so fucking hard to face these cultural milestones without being able to talk to Amir. I can't quite process these things without discussing them with Amir and getting his insight. It's like I'm missing a part of my brain.
Last night in my sibling grief-support group, a friend shared a book she'd created, full of funny and snarky Facebook posts her late brother had posted. He was a bright, sarcastic wit, just like Amir. I thought of this blog and how I intended for it to be a repository, a showcase of Amir's life--things he said and did, memories of his childhood and the profound effect he had on people throughout his life. I still have plenty of gems to share with all of you. Stick with me, friends.
Jeremy, one of Amir's close high-school friends, recently sent me a very funny and touching remembrance of Amir, which I look forward to sharing here soon. For now, I had to share the part Jeremy wrote about a memorable email from my brother that can only be described as classic Amir:
"I just did a search in my Gmail for emails from Amir. We didn’t email that often, but we had a couple good back-and-forths. His voice is present in all of them. This excerpt is Amir in a nutshell:
We're all getting older, my friend. Birth, death, marriage, divorce - these things seem to occur at a breakneck pace lately. Please give regards to Charles and your old lady. My folks are doing well. My mom asks about you. Not in a sexual way. Actually, I can't really confirm that. Take care. - Amir"
I have mined my own emails and handwritten notes for gems from Amir and have a plethora to share. Meanwhile, keep sending me your own remembrances. Seeing my brother through other people's eyes brings me closer to him, which I ache to do every day.
It's a quiet post-Christmas day at work (half my office is out this week), so I'm reading through some old emails and chats and I came across this fucking gem from Amir from a few years ago:
Ayelet: Jason and I had lunch with [retracted], which was nice. Fuck, I hate the word "nice"--remember Mrs. Lindberg [English teacher] railing against us for using it? But what other word would work here? Lunch wasn't "lovely" or "great" or "special." It was nice. That's it.
Amir: Lunch should be "tasty."
Damn straight.
We never celebrated Christmas in my family, so I'm one of those lucky grievers not drowning in yuletide memories. Having been lucky to spend several very happy Christmases with Jason's family, I'm thinking of them today, particularly my late mother-in-law, who loved Christmas down to her very core and made it so lovely and special for all of us.
I'm home today--it's grey, gloomy and muggy (WTF, weather gods?), and I'm planning to see a movie tonight so as not to think of all those happy families spending Christmas Eve together with their loved ones. I'm going to spend these four days relaxing, reflecting and taking a breather from life. Grief makes everything heavy and dark, but I'll do my best to relax and enjoy the time off.
I've found a safe place in my sibling grief-support group, among people I consider close friends after only knowing them for a few months. Simply having experienced the same unimaginable pain of losing a sibling, these fellow grief-travelers understand me and my journey in a way that even my closest family and friends can't.
Meanwhile, our friend Jeremy recently sent me some photos of Amir I hadn't seen (including the one at right, from about 2003). He was so fucking handsome, with big blue eyes, mile-long blond eyelashes and a sweet smile. I'm so sad I won't get to see him grow into a middle-aged or old man. I think he would have been one of those enviable men who only get more beautiful as they age, a la George Clooney.
Instead, Amir will remain forever young. My entire body aches every day from missing him so much. It's been 13 months since he left us and I still wake up every morning hoping it was a bad dream. How can it still be so hard for me to believe he is no longer here with us? How can we be a family without him?
Thank you, everyone, for reading this blog and for continuing to remember Amir and Jason--two beautiful souls who will be in my heart until my last breath. Sending warm wishes to all of you for a peaceful, joyful and relaxing holiday and good health and happiness in the new year.
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."
