A Secret

Today is my brother's 46th birthday. It's a secret. Not really by intention: this is a secret of passing time, not dark design. My brother died many years ago, and it was of course a painful loss for my family; a pain compounded by the shame and guilt that comes with a young life lost to addiction. In the years before his death, we suffered a slow dying of the son, the brother we loved and remembered. It made the final end all the more agonizing for the secret, shameful relief. Too few words were said in the years following - too few words for the sea of emotions. And then, somehow, that pain recedes. Not gone, never gone: simply swallowed up by the events and the emotions of the present. Then, on these days, you unpack those emotions: the grief, the guilt, the loss, the love; and you air them out and give them a look. You try them on to see how they fit. For me, this day draws me to my mother, who endured that unspeakable loss and still manages to be an extraordinary person; and to my children, who I watch love each other the way I loved, and still love. I saved this story for the last event of my day, so that I could honor my brother with the peace that long eluded him in his life. Tomorrow, this moment will again be overwhelmed by the mundane, a secret once again; but, in this quiet night, his memory is my companion, and now yours.
Happy Birthday, Ben.