Tasty

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.

Christmas Eve (who gives a shit?)

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.

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