Today is the first “anniversary” of my brother’s death. I wrote about his death, by his own hand, here last year. I have been thinking about him today. Saddened at the thought of his being gone from this world, sad for the troubled life he led, and sad at the thought that so few remember him. I am thinking about the mark each of us leaves, or maybe doesn’t leave. My sisters and I remember him, his 1 niece and 1 nephew whom he lived near and saw fairly frequently until his mental issues prevented that. Our cousins remember him as a young boy, teenager, young adult, the person they spent summer vacations with and shared holiday meals with growing up. It’s a small list of people as he didn’t have friends, was divorced for almost as long as he had been married. I hope somewhere at some time he had touched someone’s life in a meaningful way, shared a laugh with them that they remember, showed a kindness before his mental illness erased the good that had once existed within him. Replacing it with anger and irrational thoughts and all the injustices he thought had ever rained down upon him.
Today I choose to try to think back to those times before the darkness descended, to when he joked around and found humor in silly situations, to the laughter we shared together, to his love of the sea, of nature, how he loved to read the Encyclopedia. His curiosity about things and wanting to learn more and find out more. His love of yoga and meditation that centered him for a time, bringing solace to him and his world. Remembering that once long ago there had been light in his life.