So it looks like one of the “fibrous bundles” that my gynecologist found was just a little cyst. All I have to say is – visiting the radiologist’s office is like a nightmare up until the point that the doctor walks in after her assistant does your ultrasound, and she tells you, “Hi, I’m Dr. X. You’re just fine! Just thought I’d get that out of the way now since that’s what people seem to want to know right away!”

When I was lying on the table watching Natalie take my ultrasound, I felt tiny pangs of panic and despair come over me when I saw all these different colors on the screen as she ran her device over me. I obviously have no medical training, so I’d know nothing about anything on the screen, but I do know what “red” color tends to mean, and I did see some red on my left side.

I guess I won’t be seeing Ed anytime soon in the next life. He probably doesn’t want to see me this soon, anyway. But I had the feeling that from the moment I entered the office to the second I found out I was fine that his spirit was there with me, trying to ease my worries and calm me down. He was a worrywart himself, but when he’d see me worry, he would always absolutely hate it. It’s just the kind of person he was – and who he still is, somewhere up there.

It’s been three months today.

In the last few days, I’ve been thinking about it, and although sometimes it seems as though a lot of time has passed since then, other times it feels like it was just yesterday when I was crying and screaming about it, and calling my close friends and family to let them know one by one.

When my brother was about to turn 18 and I was 11, he made his first suicide attempt by taking a large amount of pills; he thought he would go to sleep and never wake up. He survived, and the next morning, he confessed to our parents what he had done, and they immediately took him to see a psychologist and psychiatrist. He was diagnosed with clinical depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and a form of anxiety disorder. During those years, he stabilized, and he admitted to me that he was actually scared that night when he attempted it, and said he didn’t want to die.

I don’t think he felt that way that afternoon at the Golden Gate Bridge. I think this time around, he really wanted his life to end. He had come to terms with it and decided that this was it; this is my end. Goodbye, World.

As awful as going through all this is, and though I wish he were still here with me today, I am grateful that I have been lucky enough to have had 16 more years with my sweet, loving, selfless brother than I could’ve had if life had worked out differently, if he had succeeded in ending his life that summer of 1997. In those 16 years, my relationship with my brother matured and deepened to the point where we were no longer fighting about petty, childish things, and instead treating each other with the love and respect that mature adult siblings should. I’m blessed to have had him for over a decade and a half the way I did. Some siblings never experience that type of love with one another their entire lives. And that’s their loss.

Today, I baked for the first time I can remember since last Christmas in Australia. For some, that doesn’t sound like a big deal, but if you know me, you will know that I love to cook and bake, and having spent nearly a year hiatus away from baking seems very unlike me. I made chocolate chip cookies with a recipe from Cook’s Illustrated, and the cookies came out beautifully.

While washing the dishes after, I remembered the times when I’d come home for winter or summer breaks during college, and I’d bake different things or offer to make dinner for my family. Since I’d cook, it was expected that Ed would wash dishes. One time, the dishes had been piled up in the sink for a while (that is all relative; in my parents’ house, if the dishes are in the sink for more than 15 minutes after dinner, someone’s going to get yelled at. That someone was Ed or me, or both). I called out for Ed and told him it was time to wash the dishes. Sometimes, he’d give me some attitude and say, “Why do I have to wash the dishes?” I’d respond, “Well, I made dinner/made cookies.” He’d retort back, “No one asked you to make dinner/bake cookies.” Then we’d go back and forth bickering with each other, and in the end, he’d wash the dishes. And I would help him because I knew he hated it.

It’s bittersweet to remember these little tiffs that we’d have because now I know that I will never have a small or big fight with my brother ever again. We’ll never agree or disagree on anything, or debate over something that is completely meaningless. There’s no future left with Ed and Yvonne as brother and sister. All that is left are our photos, the gifts he has given me over the last 27 years, and my fragile memories of my big brother.

Maybe up in heaven, he has found someone else to temporarily act as his little sister, who will make him wash dishes after she has baked brownies or cookies. But I’m pretty sure she won’t love him the way I do. She also probably won’t bake as well as I do, either.

Actually, heaven shouldn’t have any dirty dishes, so maybe they are just gorging on cookies together and awaiting me to join them.

For the last several weeks, I’ve been changing up my morning workout routine to incorporate Bikram yoga every Thursday. Class begins at 6:15am, which means I need to wake up by 5:45 to get out the door at 6 to walk over to the yoga studio. Today, though, class started at 6, so I figured waking up just fifteen minutes earlier at 5:30am wouldn’t be a huge difference for me.

I was wrong. At about 2pm today, I started crashing pretty hard, and I almost wanted to pass out over my computer.

I started this morning workout routine back in April of this year. As I was trying to fight my drowsiness at work, I thought about how I never told Ed that I started this workout routine. I never told him I was determined to get in shape again. In fact, because I was so concerned about how he was doing and ways he could better his life, I realize that in the last few months before he left us, when we’d talk on the phone, I barely told him anything that I was up to. I did tell him I was looking for a new job, and that was really it.

It hurts to know that he didn’t know these things about me. Maybe he would have wanted to know, or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe if he knew I was driven to do certain things, then maybe he would have felt more driven to live. Or maybe I am just making that up right now because I wish that could have been the case. Despite our closeness and love for one another, there will always be things that we did not know about each other that were important to us. I suppose that’s the way relationships are – you can’t always share everything. But like a quote I once read from Rainier Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet, which suddenly came to me just now, “infinite distances” exist among the closest of people:

“Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people, infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole, and before an immense sky.”

A distance that feels like infinity now exists between us. But one day, when we are together again, I will learn again to love the expanse between us.

The other day, a friend and I were discussing how one should approach a friend who has recently experienced a death of someone close (gee, I wonder who we were referencing during this). My friend, who has also experienced a number of deaths last summer (it was seriously the Summer of Death for both of us), said that oftentimes, because death is not a comfortable topic, people tend to veer away from it because they are scared of offending those who grieve. So we should forgive them and not take it personally. I said that I acknowledge it’s uncomfortable; obviously no one wants to deal with or talk about it, especially those who are experiencing it. But in the best case scenario, one who truly loves and cares about you will ask you how you are doing in that respect. If the grieving person chooses not to share, fine, but at least give him a choice to share. Hesitantly, he agreed I was right.

It also reminded me of a video I recently watched about how people conduct themselves around others and the types of relationships they choose or choose not to form. Perhaps the reason that those who choose not to ask because they say they are fearful of offending are really just scared about how they themselves will react to such raw, deep, and real feelings. Oftentimes in today’s fast-paced world, we form “friendships” with others in which all we do is talk about what we are doing and when we are doing it. Feelings and vulnerable thoughts aren’t shared because that seems like too much, too frightening. Do I really want to know this person on that level? How will what I learn about this person affect me?

Maybe what we all need is to expose ourselves just a little more, and be just a little bit more vulnerable. We’d be more real human beings then, and maybe we could attain just a fraction of the genuineness Ed had (that apparently intimidated a lot of people).

Tonight, my former colleague friend and I went to dinner at Banjara in the East Village. We both had our own lamb dumpakht (a Northern Indian/Mughal dish in which a meat curry is cooked and encased in a beautiful naan-like bread), shared a kati roll, and complimentary mango kulfi. The dumpakht was delicious – thick, rich, savory yet sweet at the same time, and so satisfying with the bread encasing it. It was like an Indian version of a chicken pot pie – just with lamb and slightly healthier bread.

During our eating and our chatter, I thought about Ed and how much he loved Indian food. Even when I wasn’t with him and he’d have an Indian craving, he’d go by himself to Star India or India Clay Oven in the Richmond District for their lunch buffet and eat to his heart’s content. Once, we tried to introduce our mother to Indian food by taking her to India Clay Oven. She picked at her food the entire time, which made her feelings obvious. At the end of it, Ed asked her if she liked the food. My mother usually doesn’t like to explicitly offend anyone, so she responded, “I really liked this bread (the naan). What’s it called?” At least we tried to get her out of her comfort zone, even if we failed.

Ed would have really liked the dumpakht. I wish I could have taken him here when he was visiting in July 2011. He probably would have devoured his, and eaten what I couldn’t finish. He always had a big appetite.

Today, Chris and I went all over Manhattan for Open House New York (OHNY) weekend, an annual event that happens in New York City where residents and tourists can get free access to many private innovative homes, public sites, and landmarks that are usually not open to the public. The description doesn’t sound that fascinating until you go through the OHNY handbook to realize exactly how creative and mind-boggling a lot of the architecture is here in the city, especially given that the majority of these spaces are really small. In total, we saw eight sites ranging from a private home built from a former garage and petroleum tank (the tank now houses two beds!) to a Frank Lloyd Wright-style, two-floor home of an architect on the Upper West Side. Needless, to say, we were both exhausted at the end of the day. Last year, we only went to two sites in two days.

One thing I noticed during our constant running around today that had nothing to do with OHNY itself is that everywhere we went, I saw a Missing Person sign posted with a man’s face on it. It was probably on every other block we walked on. It made me feel empty every time we passed by it again and again because it reminded me of the less than 18 hours when my brother was missing. How much hope can one realistically have when a loved one has been missing for 12 hours or 24, a week or a month, a year or ten years? When Ed went missing, I knew he was definitely gone forever after just six hours; I could feel it in my gut. But there are always those more fortunate instances, such as the recent Ariel Castro kidnappings, where missing people turn up after over a decade. It takes a lot of faith to keep believing someone is out there for that long. I don’t know if I could keep believing.

We took Ed (through Bart) with us today during our open house viewings. I know he enjoyed his time (and was probably the most fascinated by the beds in the petroleum tank). He always never understood how anyone could live in such tiny, cramped spaces in New York, but these spaces we saw today give hope that sometimes, you can get have more light and sense of space with just the right amount of creativity and time.

On Wednesday, Chris and I had dinner at Daniel, which is a renowned New York French restaurant and one of just a few in the city that has been awarded three Michelin stars. Over the phone, I told my mom that Chris was taking me, and she said how nice it would be and how good it is to indulge every now and then (she was obviously in a good mood because she doesn’t say that very often. Her mentality is to save every penny for my future mortgage, children’s education, etc.).

Today, I’m on the phone with my dad, and out of nowhere, he says to me, “Next time, when you and Chris decide to go to a fancy and expensive restaurant, can you not tell your mother?” Confused, I asked him what he meant. He said that yesterday, she picked a fight with him about how he never takes her anywhere fancy or expensive, and barely even initiates buying a $5 sandwich out. Well frankly, all that is true, so I didn’t really say anything when he said that.

Then I realized something. When Ed was around, my mother probably spent most of her time hounding Ed about not working or trying hard enough at work, at doing chores, etc. She spent some time obsessing over the mundane with my dad, but if I remember correctly, her focus was on tormenting my brother. Now that Ed isn’t here, she probably doesn’t know what to do with all her energy (plus her new nervous energy since she has lost him), so she probably picks even more fights with my dad now. I have to hear about these fights from both sides.

Thank God you never have to go through another one of these pointless, excessive stress fests ever again, Ed. I’m so happy for you. Even though I miss you.

Today, I saw a John Lennon quote that made me stop and think for a bit. Then, because I wanted to read more quotes of things he’s said that are seemingly obscure, I Googled him and found this one:

“There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we pull back from life. When we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance. We need to learn to love ourselves first, in all our glory and our imperfections. If we cannot love ourselves, we cannot fully open to our ability to love others or our potential to create. Evolution and all hopes for a better world rest in the fearlessness and open-hearted vision of people who embrace life.”

That’s Ed, I thought. My brother was always afraid and rarely did exactly what he wanted. The truth is what Lennon says here – if you don’t love yourself first, you can never be fully able to create and flourish. Ed always had so much potential, from his drawings to his wood shop models to his karate and Chinese language skills. This world weighed down on him so much that he couldn’t see his own abilities and succumbed to believe that he was worthless. It’s painful to think about now and will probably continue to hurt decades from now.

One part of this quote that I do not agree with in the context of Ed, though, is that I do believe that despite his inability to love himself, he fully loved me and showed it in all ways imaginable. Take that, Lennon lovers – he wasn’t right about everything.

Tonight, we went to my cousin’s apartment in Brooklyn to celebrate his son’s first birthday. Given the dysfunction in their house, everything that was a plan ended up not being the final plan – his wife’s sister, husband, and son were hours late (even though they had originally wanted to meet at 5pm), the cake had to be cut and eaten before dinner as opposed to after, and the restaurant got switched because of their random demands (and my cousin’s lack of balls to assert himself). Despite all the snarky remarks, ignoring, and passive aggression that were obviously in the room, little Ryan was oblivious. In pretty much all the photos I took of him, he seemed happy and healthy.

While it was great to see my little pseudo nephew (first cousin once removed… whatever you want to call it), the entire time we were sitting at their apartment and then at the restaurant, it was like I was subconsciously making a mental list of all the things I hated and did not want for my own kids and life. The list goes something like this:

1. Do not make snarky remarks to your husband in front of family/friends.

2. Don’t ignore your husband.

3. Let your child stand up and fall. And then get back up. Stop preventing him from failing. He’s never going to win if he doesn’t lose occasionally.

4. Be assertive and don’t let any neurotic or selfish in-laws dictate your child’s birthday plans. You set the date, time, and location. If they want something else, they don’t have to come. Your child, your decisions.

5. If your child rejects food, stop force feeding him. He will end up throwing it all up later anyway, and guess who will have to clean it?

I have other mental check lists, too, for other parts of life. Some have been prompted by my parents, some have come as a result of Ed and his life, and others are inspired by other neurotic people I know. It will be easier to say it than do it, but if I write them all down, maybe I will be harder on myself to enforce these rules.

By the way, Bart (Ed) came to the birthday event last night, but we never took him out of the bag. In retrospect, it was probably a better thing because it’s not like we need to expose him to any more stress than necessary. He left this world to escape it, not to relive all the tension again.