For Ian, on his Birthday

My brother Ian's birthday is today, August 6th. He would have been 36 years old. This is the 10th birthday celebration we've had for him since he died. It doesn't quite feel like it's been ten years since he's been gone; his life's imprint is indelible, and his absence is felt every day. Every year, we celebrate his life and raise a toast to the man who brought a lot of love and light into our world.

He was loving, funny, kind, incredibly generous, smart, witty, and a little bit of a schemer. He was an extremely hard worker, but he also really liked the idea of getting things for free. So much so, that he would enter every contest he could find. He was certain he would win a car from a mall giveaway. He was definitely going to win a jackpot in Vegas. If you got into his car, you'd be sure to find dozens of Scratcher tickets strewn all over the floor of both his back and front seats. Now that I think of it, I must have gotten my Scratcher obsession from him, because as soon as he turned eighteen, he would buy one any time we went to the grocery store. One time, he entered a giveaway and won a "free trip to Vegas," AKA a bus-ride to some shitty hotel off the strip. He went. Of course he went. Along with this trip, he won a portrait session, which he somehow managed to drag me into. I was 14 and he was 17. He made me dress up, and we went to an office building somewhere in Canoga Park, where we waited in uncomfortable plastic chairs along with multiple families with hoards of screaming babies dressed up like dolls. The photographer posed us both, and kept touching my chin so that it would tilt in the perfectly awkward angle that he preferred.

This was the final awesome outcome of that journey:

Ian had a quiet coolness about him that was at times unsettling to people with personality types that required excessive talking. Sometimes he would remain silent for a while, until the perfect moment to interject with a quip or a sarcastic outburst. Other times, he was the life of the party, and the first person on the dance floor to bust out his ridiculous dance moves. Either way, his presence was always palpable.

He used to call me to say hi, and he would spend the first 30 to 60 seconds blasting a rap song through the phone. I'd hear him rapping along, and pictured him doing nerdy white-boy hand gestures to match the lyrics. He loved hardcore rap, but he also loved incredibly mushy R&B like Boyz II Men and Soul for Real. The song "Candy Rain," will always remind me of my brother. He'd drive me around in his Honda Accord and we'd listen to the Fugees, Dr. Dre, Snoop, and occasionally R.E.M or Aerosmith.

Ian did not like health food. He hated most vegetables and preferred bread, or breaded cheese. He loved maple donuts, vanilla ice cream, and Slurpees, and he disliked chocolate unless it was inside a chocolate chip cookie. His food choices hardly progressed past age six, as he often opted for chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks with a Shirley Temple. He despised water but loved Gatorade and cherry coke. Martinelli's apple juice and pink lemonade. Chocolate milk made with just the tiniest bit of chocolate powder. Pizza bagels, peanut butter cookies, Reese's Pieces, and apple pie. He ate 4 by 4's at In-N-Out. "But I had a Green Machine this morning," he'd say, as if the rest of his unhealthy eating was somehow negated by that one smoothie.

Over the last ten years, I've had dozens of dreams about Ian, and I strongly believe that he visits me in many of those dreams. For the first year or two, he would show up in a dream, and he always said he didn't have much time to stay and hang out because he had to go see other people. I would hug him tightly and tell him how much I'd missed him. Each time, my mind recognized the fact that he had been gone for a long, long time, but not the fact that he wasn't alive anymore. Perhaps because in my dreams, he is alive. Recently, his spirit showed up in my dream and he gave me a sign that he was in the room with me and our brother Josh. I felt comforted by his presence, even once I was awake.

I feel incredibly blessed to have had twenty-two years to spend with Ian. Twenty-two years as the little sister of a great human who adored his friends and family. Over the last ten years, I've learned even more about him through stories and memories from other people, and many of us have gotten closer in his absence. Ian knew how to make people feel loved. So, to my big brother on his 36th birthday, we love you and miss you! We'll have some Irish Car Bombs and celebrate you and your life. Thanks for being in ours.