Justin

You died on my birthday while I was on my honeymoon. The news of your death caught me off guard, caught everyone off guard. 34 is too young. That alone makes it heartbreaking enough. But you were, technically a brother, my brother. I wonder why I am not grieving enough. What amount of grieving or not grieving is right? Grief has always been a difficult thing for me to process. I am learning it's an ocean you find yourself in. I feel other people's grief. I feel grief for a life cut too short. I feel grief for the world who will no longer have you in it. I find myself caught in waves, riptides, calmness, darkness, cold, warmth, mystery.

The truth is you and I were barely close. If we were to talk about our relationship plainly today we would probably agree that we are just side characters in each other's stories. We lived in the same house and shared a bathroom that first year I moved to the US, the biggest transition, and darkest time of my life. Living together was awkward at best. Trying to live as adults in our newly married parents' home, knowing we were both supposed to be old enough to be on our own. I barely remember conversations with you and the news of your passing has forced me to face the truth of how much better our relationship could have been.

I have been fumbling for the right words to say, to remember you by.

Perhaps the only real thing I could remember sharing with you was how I spent hours upon hours learning how to play the piano in that old house and you would just sit and listen while I sang.  That time in my life was dark and painful, I am sure me learning to play the piano was painful for you too. lol. You have had to endure a lot of pain in your short life. Too much pain and yet you've managed to show love and patience to those around you somehow. Thank you for listening while I stumbled and learned and for cheering me on.