Chris’s brother Ben has been nice enough to house us during our time visiting him in Toronto. Although he did make a good attempt at preparing clean bedsheets and towels for us, after two nights of showering in a mildew-ridden, grimy bathtub (which I later learned hadn’t been cleaned in over six months, if not longer), I couldn’t take it anymore and took it upon myself to bleach and scrub the entire tub (and even the sink as an added bonus). It took 30 minutes of scrubbing, soaking, and scrubbing again, but in the end, it was virtually good as new.

I know. I’m an anal clean freak. I cannot stand dirt or the idea that dirt is there. Believe it or not, just because you do not see conspicuous dirt does not mean a surface is clean! This reminded me of the times when Ed used to oddly tell me that he wished that one day, I’d move back to San Francisco, and we’d get an apartment together. Every time he said this, I’d burst out laughing and tell him how ridiculous the idea was. Would he want to live with me and my future boyfriend/husband? Was he insane? And did he think that I would clean up after him like I always did at our parents’ house growing up? My brother was the kind of person who was anal about visible dirt, but if it didn’t “look” dirty, it was clean to him. Plus, he hated cleaning and would put it off for as long as possible. The only exception to this was laundry, which he would do like clockwork.

I guess now, we will definitely never share an apartment. But that doesn’t mean that Bart won’t be hanging out at my future homes. He’ll always be there with us.

One of my aunts told my mom that suicide is a selfish act because when you choose to end your life, you’re thinking only of yourself and completely disregard how people who love you will cope with your death. While at first glance, that may seem to be the case, but that’s only because this outsider has no empathy regarding the depth of the pain and suffering one is experiencing when choosing that final action. Depression can be so deep that it completely prevents you from truly taking in anything that is said or done around you, and it just envelopes you to a point that nothing else can be absorbed in your mind. That’s pretty difficult for a lot of people to wrap their heads around; it’s even difficult for me to completely understand even when my own brother took his own life. None of us will fully know what that means unless we ourselves experience it.

My brother is one of the least selfish people I’ve ever known. I’m not just saying that because he’s not around anymore, either. He always thought about other people – what they thought, how they felt, what they wanted. His generosity sometimes drove me crazy because he’d want to give things to the most random people, people he barely even knew! Although his life was not long, it’s like what Rick Warren writes in The Purpose-Driven Life: God measures you not by how long your life is, but rather what you do with your life and how you choose to serve others (or not). In his short time on earth, Ed gave so much of himself to the people around him and those he cared deeply for, and that’s ultimately what makes me firmly believe that my brother is in heaven. He has a heart that would make angels cry.

I always wanted Ed to travel more. We never traveled growing up since our parents were very frugal, and the farthest we had ever gone with all four of us was southern California – the main reason was to visit Disneyland in Anaheim. I was 5, and Ed was 12.

I tried to get him to come to New York to visit me last year and said I’d pay for his airfare. He had come the year before for our cousin’s wedding, but it wasn’t that enjoyable for him since my mother and I were arguing the whole time, and he never enjoys himself as much when our parents are around. I wanted him to come with just himself, and I was planning on taking a few days off to show him around the city and convince him that New York wasn’t as dirty and disgusting as he thought it was.

I wanted us to take a trip together for a long weekend – we’d explore a city somewhere in the U.S. together, and I’d get him out of his comfort zone that is the overcast and gray depression of San Francisco.

I often envisioned Chris and I having a destination wedding on an island somewhere, and I would tell my brother not to worry about the expenses because I’d take care of everything for him. As long as he was there to experience it all with me, that would be the only thing that mattered. I wanted Ed to travel the world, and I wanted to take care of him and all his worries. Money wouldn’t matter.

He isn’t physically with us anymore, and I’m still angry about it. But he will continue to experience life through us, through our Bart Simpson. He’s coming with us on his first trip across the northern border tomorrow to visit Ben. Ed’s finally going to Canada, and I’m taking him.

I was listening to Nelson Mandela’s audio book version of his autobiography A Long Walk to Freedom, and during it, he discusses how he once thought that to have a BA meant that you could then become a true leader. I thought about this for a little bit, and recalled my brother and how he felt about education. Though he never did earn a BA, he did value education, particularly for me.

When I was in fifth grade, I expressed that my teacher was very poor in her teaching of long division. She really wasn’t a very smart person, and teaching was certainly not her forte at all, particularly in the math realm. Ed was so mad about this that he decided to take it upon himself to teach me. So a few hours a week, he’d set some time up with me to go over the fundamentals of long division, how it works, with many examples where he’d walk me through each step, and end with a few sample quizzes for me. I was terribly slow at learning it, but with his nurturing patience, I eventually grasped it. In retrospect, I realized that my brother could have become a really great teacher. He was so patient and empathetic.

I remember the summer after my sophomore year of high school, I took a psychology course at City College for fun since it was free. I’d always wanted to study psych, so I figured this would be a great opportunity. I loved that course; it’s by far one of the best classes I’ve taken in my life. However, I knew that it was an elective and would not be counted against my high school GPA, so for the first exam, I didn’t study. My professor (Robert Gurney) said that he would drop the lowest test score, so I figured I could slack off for the first exam. The night before the exam, I sat in our living room, watching TV, and Ed came over and asked how the class was going. I told him it was going well and that we had an exam the next day. He looked at me, puzzled, and then asked, why aren’t you studying? “He drops the lowest test score for the final grade,” I responded. “Yvonne, just because he drops the lowest test score doesn’t mean you don’t study!” He exclaimed. I laughed and said it wasn’t a big deal. This was Ed worrying about me as usual, hoping I would do my best and showing his big brother concern. I ended up getting a B on that test. On every test following that, I studied and got all A’s. Ed knew this, and he still thought I should have studied for that first exam. Oh, Ed.

I’m so lucky and blessed that I have so many great memories of my brother and that I was given 27.5 years with him in my life.

I finally came up with the courage to tell my mom today that I resigned and began a new job. I probably would have told her sooner, but given the grief and instability that my brother’s passing has caused, I figured it would be best to wait a bit before telling her. My mother is the ultimate worrier and pessimist; she always worries even in the most carefree situations, and when everyone else sees the best things, she tends to quietly point out the worst. I don’t blame her; it’s just the way she is given all of her experiences growing up in a war-torn Vietnam and as an immigrant in the U.S. The number one thing my mother has sought in a job is stability. She always thought I had that at Reprise. And I was bored to death.

The truth about my new job is that things have been going as good as they could be in the last five days I have been there; everyone has been even warmer and nicer (and smarter and less BS-y) than I expected. The culture seems to be exactly what I never quite had at my last company, and I know this will be a challenging, fun ride. My manager has been incredibly empathetic with me given the recent events of my family, and I haven’t felt more satisfied about work in this way for as long as I can remember (granted, I haven’t done any “real” work yet, but I hope to still be singing this song in three months’ time). In the beginning, when I had just signed the offer and given my last company my resignation letter, I was terrified. I was scared of leaving a place where I had built a solid reputation for myself over more than four years, as someone who didn’t just “know her shit,” but also was full of personality and well-liked. I was intimidated by how potentially more intelligent and efficient people would be than I at my current company given the nature of startup culture; people generally don’t fair well in startups if they can’t walk the talk. But in the last three weeks, though I have cried, snapped, and shrieked over and over about how unfair the world is and how my beloved Ed deserved a better life than what he had, I’ve realized that if I can get through my brother departing this world, everything else… would seem easy — relatively speaking. My worst fears came true when I learned Ed had left this world, so how much more worse and painful could anything else really be in life?

I owe it to Ed to take the chances that he never did, to take risks and enjoy life to the extent that he deserved – that I deserve. I never had the chance to tell him about this new job, but I know in my heart that he would probably be the happiest person in the world for me and so proud of his little sister. Everything I do from this point forward, I will think of Ed and think of every step as something that he would have seen and for which he would cheer me on.

Since the night before Ed passed, he’s come to me in dreams many times. During the twelve days I was home in San Francisco, when I’d awaken, I’d remember no dreams of any sort. Since I have come back to New York, I seem to remember him coming to me every few nights.

In one dream, Chris and I have taken him on a trip to Memphis, Tennessee, where the three of us are all sitting at a round table eating barbeque ribs at Rendez Vous, a restaurant I’d wanted to try when I was there in 2010, but the lines were too long. Ed loved barbeque, and like most men, adored ribs. This is when we thought the Bart Simpson figurine inspiration would be most fitting to memorialize him. Ed can still travel the world with us.

In the same night, I dreamt I was signed into my GMail account, and I saw him on Google Chat, so I instant messaged him and chatted with him. I told him how mad I was at him for leaving me alone in this world, and how much I missed him and wanted him to come back. He simply said, “I’m sorry.”

In another dream, he went to the top of a building and jumped off. He was rushed to the hospital, where I met him. He regained consciousness for a little bit, got out of his bed, talked to me for a bit, stumbled, fell, and then died. I woke up crying.

Three nights ago, I dreamt that he called me while I was in New York and told me he ate something bad. He said he had some blue cheese that was odd (Ed always hated blue cheese), and it was making his stomach turn. I advised him to drink some hot, clear liquids and rest. A few hours later, my mom calls me to tell me that Ed died from food poisoning.

Last night, I had a dream that I was working in San Francisco (it’s unclear if I am there temporarily for work or living at home again), and I had a really bad day at the office. I came home feeling very upset, and then when I walk through the front door, there is Ed, sitting with his head in his hands at the dining room table. My heart is pounding when I see him, and I run up to him and embrace him tightly. The feel of his arms around me is so real that for a few seconds, I really think that this dream is real. I start crying, and I keep repeating over and over, “Are you really here? Did all of that stuff never happen?” And he is confused, holding me firmly in his strong arms, and says to me that he has no idea what I am talking about, and that I should calm down.

I don’t know where you are exactly in heaven, Ed, but all I do know is that you are out there somewhere. But where I really want you is right here with me, alive and breathing and smiling — forever. I would even pay your rent if you were willing to come back, and I don’t pay anyone else’s rent. I still want you back.

A lot of odd things have happened since Ed has passed away that make me believe that he is still there, watching over me in his own ways. One night after Chris had gone back to New York, it took me four hours to fall asleep. During that time tossing and turning, I noticed a rectangular light right above Ed’s bed where he’d slept. It wouldn’t go away, and I couldn’t figure out where that light was coming from.

Yesterday night, while looking for parking in Newport, we were having the hardest time finding a spot. Then after blocks and blocks of looking, we finally found one – on Edward Street. On the first part of the block, there were multiple basketball courts – Ed loved basketball. On the end of the block was a small cemetery. The coincidence was too odd.

Chris came up with an idea to preserve Ed forever that we’ve already started. Everywhere we travel, whether it’s a short road trip an hour away or across the world, we will take something along that had special meaning to Ed that will represent him to me (I chose his Bart Simpson figurine that he’s had as long as I can remember; Ed loved the Simpsons). During these trips, when we do something that I think Ed might have enjoyed, I will take Bart out and snap a photo of him in the scene. That way, in my heart, Ed will have experienced this great activity/event with us, and will live life and travel through us — through me. He will always be with me. This weekend, we are in Rhode Island exploring Newport and Providence, and Ed (Bart) has already gotten his face smothered in fried clam bellies and stuffed lobster!