Dear Ed,
I can’t believe it’s been 12 years since you left us today. Our cousin Russell actually messaged me this morning to acknowledge this. Russell has his own problems, but I know he loved you very much and still misses and thinks about you all the time. Each year that passes feels like a bigger gap between us. But it also makes me realize how quickly time flies the older I get. Sometimes, the day of your death is crystal clear in my head, while other days, it’s fuzzy and as though it was made up and never actually happened. I still remember how numb I felt when I found out you were missing. Even though I was walking around and doing things, it felt like my eyesight had become cloudy, like I wasn’t really walking but instead was floating just above the ground. My entire body felt weightless and extremely heavy at the same time. Nothing felt real. And then, just like that… you were confirmed gone, dead, passed away — a corpse in a refrigerator at the Marin County Morgue. Sometimes, it still doesn’t even feel real now that you’re gone.
I always wish I could have told you more, shared more about myself and my thoughts with you. I wish I could have been there for you more. I wish I could have really listened to more of what you had to say. But it was hard. I wasn’t physically always there. And even when I was, it was hard to talk to you. You had a large grey cloud looming above you all the time. It made our conversations non-continuous, choppy, never able to get past a certain point. We could never peel the outer layers of the onion away to get to the core of anything. You had a mental block that I couldn’t quite see or understand. I’m sorry I never told you all I wanted to say. And I’m sorry I never let you tell me all you wanted to say.
It’s funny, though. Now that you’re gone, out of nowhere, I think about the most random things to share with you that I think you’d find interest or amusement in. None of these things are particularly meaningful or deep or interesting or things I’d expect anyone to remember beyond the moment, but they’re more “in the moment” things that I think you’d appreciate. One of the latest things that happened that I thought would make you smile was when I wore a top with chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream cones on it. Kaia always gets excited when she sees food she likes in print or on clothing. So she pointed out that the shirt was new (to her) and that it had ice cream. I asked her to tell me what the flavors were, and she said from left to right, they were chocolate (brown), cherimoya (white), and strawberry (pink). And I just giggled because I thought it was so adorable… as we just came back from South America, where we ate a lot of cherimoya, so now, at least temporarily, Kaia associates “white” with “cherimoya” instead of the expected vanilla flavor.
My friends share about their kids and their siblings spending time with them. One of my friends lives a block away from her dad, who is caring for his granddaughter during the work week (so my friend’s niece). She goes over there frequently to spend time with her niece. And even though it has nothing to do with me or you or Kaia, a part of me feels envious. I wish that you could spend quality time and have sweet moments with Kaia. But that is never going to happen. A lot of amazing things were robbed from you, Ed. And for that, a large part of me will always be resentful on your behalf.
It’s July 2025 now, so a year and a half since the safety net was installed at the Golden Gate Bridge. We’re planning to go back to San Francisco next month. Maybe this visit, I may actually feel ready to go see it. I want to see this barrier that is saving lives… just not yours.
We haven’t forgotten you, Ed. We’ll never forget. Twelve years later, and I still haven’t forgotten you. I also haven’t stopped missing you. I love you. You may never read this, but I love you; I really do. And in her heart, I know Kaia loves you, too, and wishes she could have a real relationship in flesh and blood with you, too.
Rest in love, my sweet big brother.