Anniversaries

Dear Dan,

Dad has been gone 23 years today. 23 years today, you were here to help mom with the arrangements and to get information from the doctor in Memphis. It's odd to look back and see how much has changed in that time.

You were alive, for one thing. You were living in the apartment mom and I now share. I was living in New York. Mom was living in New Jersey. Scott was living in the house where we grew up.

You were in selling real estate. I was a stagehand. Mom was word processing and Scott was a security guard.

In our future was 23 years of changing residences, careers and relationship status.

Health status changed for all of us. Except for Scott's, all were minor changes associated with getting older. I was sure we would lose Scott before you. That would have been a natural progression of events, given his health challenges.

But you just had to go and, quite literally, jump the line, didn't you? Did you have any idea of the hole you would leave? Did what this would do to us ever cross your mind? Or did you think we wouldn't care? Did you think of us at all? Or do people committing suicide not think about the aftermath on the ones who love them?

22 anniversaries of dad's death have passed. You were with us for 18.

Since we don't have a marker for you or a spot to visit, when I go to see dad, I talk to you as well. I guess I could just go talk to my sock drawer, but that would just be weird. No more weird than the fact that some of your ashes are still in my sock drawer.

Anyway, when I visit dad, I talk to you as well. I'm hoping you two are together and getting along.

I think of you every day and miss you every day.

I love you. Say hello to dad for me and tell him I love him too.

Yep, I love and miss you both, bro.