Two years ago on February 3rd, John’s older brother Alan died.

It was sudden and awful and my memories of that time are a blur — aided mostly by my overly sparse Instagram posts.  His death was followed far too closely by Covid and the pandemic and quarantine so sometimes, it feels like a lifetime away.

Today would be his forty second birthday.  (Yes, that makes him younger than me).  I don’t want to diminish that we lost him far too soon, but when I think about Alan now, I mostly feel joy.  I feel him with us a lot and I believe that he’s watching over John with a mindful eye.

The thing about Alan was that he had cerebral palsy.  And he was non-verbal.  And we didn’t see him a lot – something I could kick myself for now, but I also can’t go back and change.  I loved seeing him when we did – it was so patently obvious how much he loved his brother.  His eyes filled with love and then utter sadness when we inevitably left.  We would stand and talk to him – tell him stories about our lives, tease him about childhood memories.  He would withhold kisses from John until he felt John had properly paid penance for not being around.

Alan’s kisses were life.  His joy was infectious – his laughter, his smile, his waving arms.  I know – if he could – he’d have given us an earful.  He’d tease and tell embarrassing stories.  He’d harass his little brother.

But that was never their relationship.

So I believe that now – he is doing his brotherly duty.  He is giving John strength when he doesn’t believe he has any.  He is reassuring him when life feels uncertain and overwhelming.  He is lifting him up when he can and walking beside him when that’s what John needs.  I feel Alan with us.  During the day when something funny happens, and at night when I light candles for he and my mother.  He makes me feel safe.

I miss him but I also know he is with us.

Happy Birthday, my brother.  I love you.

Xox, g