Dear Ed,

Merry Christmas! It’s the second Christmas since you’ve left us. Christmas will always be one of those bittersweet times for me each year because I know how much you’ve always loved it – everything from the Christmas trees and ornaments, to the giving of presents, to even Santa Claus and Christmas movies on television. You were always so generous every year, giving far more than you ever received. I’m sure a lot of us took you for granted. We all just expected to get high quality pillows and bed sheets and blankets from you. I honestly wish you weren’t so generous because maybe then, you wouldn’t have been so disappointed about other people and their lack of thought when giving you gifts.

It’s also Chris’s 33^rd birthday this Christmas, Ed. He’s now the same age as you were when you left us in July 2013. Thirty-three years on this earth. It’s a number that will always be ingrained in my mind because once you reached that age, you never got any older, and you never will now. Even when you were that age, you barely had any white hairs or even a hint of a wrinkle on your face. It just added to your childlike innocence and naiveté in this world.

I stood around Chris’s family today, observing and listening and participating in all the loudness and insanity that has been there the last three Christmases I have been in Melbourne with them. Sometimes throughout the day, it’s as though I don’t hear all the calamity around me, and I drift off into my own thoughts which almost always include you. You probably would have been a bit awkward to be around them, but I know for a fact you would have enjoyed yourself. You would have enjoyed and loved being a part of an extended family that not only embraced Christmas, but tried to extend it for as many days as possible.

Every day, I’m learning to accept life without you as one of us. Some days, it’s easier than others, but around Christmas time, your birth date, and your death date, it’s always the worst. The void you have left becomes more pronounced, but then I am reminded of all the things in life that you were deprived of that made me angry for you.

It would have been amazing to take you to be a part of these Christmas gatherings and to involve you in our wedding planning. Can you believe that your little sister is going to get married and is actually planning her wedding? I can’t even believe it myself. It’s like the reality I hoped for but never really thought about realistically. I am thinking about ways to incorporate you into the wedding and reception. Some ideas are cheesy, some are a bit morbid, but all are filled with how much I love and miss you. Happy Christmas from Chris and me. We haven’t forgotten about you. And we never will.

Love,

Yvonne

Today, Chris’s parents threw us the long-awaited engagement party they’d been discussing for the last few months. His mom insisted that they host a celebration since it’s not like something this big happens every day (it always seems to amaze me when people insist on celebrating events like this, since it seems that the opposite is encouraged in my family.. particularly since occasions like this involve planning and logistics, and thus would be considered “work,” also known as “suffering” for some). She and Chris’s dad took care of everything, from the fancy and large mousse and lemon curd dark chocolate brownie cake to the food catering to even the setup and the photography. About 50 guests showed up, including, family, more distant relatives, as well as Chris’s friends from high school and college. All we did was show up and arrange the food on the tables in the park.

Whenever I am in the presence of all of Chris’s people, I am always a bit overwhelmed with how warm and welcoming they are. I guess I should be used to it by now, but I feel like I am still waiting for the one person who will not be warm and happy to meet me, the person who may even be passive aggressive or grill me about every detail of my life that I may keep hidden from the wider family. Clearly I think this way based on my life experiences and the way my family is, but in some way, it could even be tainting my ability to truly just accept that others can be so accepting and genuine with me and not have some motive to find fault in who I am.

The other thing that surprised me about today was how many gifts we received. When Susan and Tony originally informed us that they’d like to host a party for us, I honestly was not even thinking about receiving or asking for gifts, yet we left the party not just with heaps of leftover sandwiches and cake, but also with boxes and boxes of gifts and greeting cards. It reminded me of the original reason I wouldn’t have wanted to throw an engagement party for myself – I hate the idea of engagement gifts and registries, particularly the expectation that simply because one is engaged that she should receive gifts. It’s the reason so many people hate weddings – the (sometimes) unspoken, constant expectation for material goods in the form of “gifts” – presents for engagement, then for bridal showers, potentially even for bachelorettes, and then of course for the wedding itself, and even honeymoon gifts!! I don’t want people to think we are hosting these events to hoard gifts or profit off of them. We honestly just want the time to celebrate and for me to meet friends I haven’t had the chance to meet. We appreciate the gifts, but we don’t really expect them in this case.

In every state in Australia with the exception of Queensland, it’s illegal to hold a koala. The main rationale behind this is that although koalas appear to be cuddly and cute, little does the average person know that these marsupials have quite sharp claws that could easily be used to claw our eyes out if we do not handle them properly. They weren’t really made to be held by human beings. I was pretty disappointed by this when I visited Taronga Zoo in Sydney two years ago and found out that I couldn’t hold one, but if I wanted to shell out $25 AUD, I could just pose in a picture with one perched on a branch. I passed.

Since we were in Queensland and I’d read about the Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary, I figured this was my chance to finally hold one. I was wearing the wrong clothing today, though, and was in a sleeveless dress. I wasn’t even thinking about my clothes when queuing up to hold the koala. As soon as the koala latched onto me, its claws dug into my shoulder for grip, and I realized how crazy and clingy (in a bad way) these guys could be. I pet my koala for a few seconds, and my image of koalas being incredibly soft quickly died, as his fur was far more bushy than I’d envisioned.

I will keep admiring them from afar, but my fantasy with holding a koala has now been fulfilled. I suppose this is the touristy excitement for a visitor to Australia in the same way Bubba Gump’s could be for someone visiting the U.S.

I woke up at 3:15am this morning to make my dad breakfast since I had to leave at 4 to catch my flight back to New York. I prepared oatmeal for him — three parts water to one part soy milk, mixed in ground flax seed, oat bran, and chia seeds, and grated apples to get some fruit and sweetness in. I mixed it up in a pot and left it on the stove. I fed his fish their separate types of food in their two tanks and cleaned up the kitchen before my mom had a chance to get up to see me off. Before I left, I went into his bedroom to say goodbye. He hadn’t slept very well last night because of one of the eleven medications he’s on as a result of the surgery, and he had to wake up to pee almost every hour, so I knew he’d be awake. I told him to take care, remember to do his breathing exercises, not to cross his legs where his graft wounds were healing, and that I’d call him when I got back to New York. I kissed his forehead and said, “I love you, Daddy.” He waited a moment and responded, “I love you.” And I left.

It’s only the third time I’ve told my dad verbally “I love you.” He wasn’t raised in a family where words like that were spoken. The first time I said it was just last year when I got home after Ed passed away. I told him that then, and for the first time, he said it back. The second time, I said it in the pre-operation room last week before the doctors gave him his anesthesia for the surgery.

My feelings around my family are complicated… because while I enjoy spending time with them, I reach my limits very quickly and realize how much they can exacerbate me with their set ways and their narrow views of the world. But I love my dad. It terrified me to think that I could have lost him to a heart attack; I’m still shaken by the idea because it’s always been a lingering fear in the back of my mind given our family history and his age. But this surgery is one step in the right direction — to repair his heart physically, but also hopefully, emotionally, as well.

Dear Ed,

I can’t believe it’s been a year since you decided to leave this world. In fact, even though you decided to leave me exactly one year ago, one year ago today, I was not even aware that you made this decision to leave and jump off that bridge. I was at home, on the phone with my friend and eating dinner. I thought it was just any other night. I had gotten off the phone with our mother just a bit before, and I was telling her about my plan to go to Toronto with Chris to visit his brother that following weekend. And then a couple hours later, she calls and leaves a calm, urgent voice message, and when I call her back, she tells me that you are missing.

It wasn’t until tomorrow one year ago that I knew for a fact that you were missing… and dead. I knew it. I could feel it. I can’t remember any other 16-hour period of my life that was worse than that time, when I felt more helpless and like I could do nothing at all. I just kept hoping and hoping in my mind that you were still out there somewhere, breathing, eating, walking — just alive. The world became a blur to me and nothing else really mattered as long as I knew that you were fine.

And then our dad called me early afternoon on the 23rd and confirmed the terrible news. And I honestly just felt like dying at that moment. I wasn’t sure if or how our parents or I could get through this. How was I supposed to live knowing that you, my big brother, decided life wasn’t worth living anymore and committed suicide? How could I live with myself always wondering that if I maybe had done one extra thing for you or said or not said something else that maybe you’d still be with us today?

It was like my whole life changed from that point onward. My hatred and anger for our family increased exponentially – for all of its dysfunction and negativity and lack of genuine care. My levels of sensitivity heightened to a point where I was always finding myself tearing up or crying over things that I’d never really gotten emotional about before. My impatience became greater, and I found myself getting more irritated by sayings or people that I never would normally have issues with. My consciousness of what it means to be “empathetic” grew, but mostly because I felt like 90% of everyone around me had no idea what the hell that word even means or how they were supposed to act around me knowing that I had just lost you, and not just lost you in a “natural” way, but to suicide. I was already someone who had a smaller group of friends, but it’s like this happening only proved how much smaller that group had to be in my life because I didn’t like the way a lot of people responded to me after that.

I want you to know that despite all the pain and tears in the last year that I’m not mad at you for leaving. In fact, I can’t even remember a time when I was angry with you in the last 365 days. I can’t blame you for not wanting to be a part of this world. I feel this spiraling sadness and feel even worse when I think of how lonely you must have felt all those years because no one really understood you, and I wasn’t physically there enough to comfort and encourage you. I still have moments when I curse myself and think I didn’t do enough as a sister to help you. You’re the only one in my life who would be happy for me because you just are and because you love me, not because you have anything to gain from it. You’re the only one who could understand me in your exact way because we grew up in the same house with the same parents. You’re the only person who will ever have the exact same blood in his veins as me.

A lot of people think that because I’ve gotten a new job, done a lot of traveling, continued socializing and working on different projects that I’m just fine without you, that maybe the pain isn’t there anymore, that maybe you are no longer top of mind to me. Only morons would think that way. I think about you every single day, if not every single hour, even if just for a second. Even though you died, I have to move on with my life to make sure I can stay sane, to prove to you that life is worth living and amazing things really can happen on this earth. You left too early, Ed. You didn’t even stick around long enough for Chris and me to take you out to Indian food to celebrate your 34th birthday. Well, I’ll admit — that’s something I’m kind of pissed about.

Did you see us when we were in Brazil, and Chris proposed on Sao Conrado beach with all of those hang gliders constantly landing on that brilliant white sand? I thought about you a lot that day. I’ve thought about you a lot every time I share the proposal story because I wish I could have called you to tell you myself and hear you get excited for me…. because I know you would have been despite the profound sadness that enveloped you. I’ve caught myself tearing up when I share the story because I always remember you and how you will never physically be here for me to tell, and you will not be here the day we get married.

It’s okay, though. I always feel you, and in my heart, you will never be dead. You still live on in me, in my life, and all over San Francisco whenever I go back. I love you and miss you so much, Ed. I hope you always remember that wherever you are and no matter where I am. Life has to end, but love doesn’t. Our love will never, ever end. And I will see you again — in this life, sadly only in my dreams, and in the next life, when you are waiting for me to join you when I am ready.

Love,

Yvonne

Tonight, one of my best friends and I were on FaceTime chatting for over 2.5 hours about work, life, wedding planning, and travel. It’s so weird that it’s been almost two years since she got married in Maui and moved to Singapore. That means it’s been two years since I planned her bridal shower and bachelorette party in Vegas, gave two maid of honor speeches at her two wedding receptions (one far better and memorable than the other… I still have deep regrets about not better planning the second one), and went dress shopping and fitting with her.

Now that I am engaged, she wants to do whatever she can from a distance to help, whether that means being on standby at her phone as I try on wedding dresses here so that I can Whatsapp her photos to get her feedback, or providing Excel sheet templates she used for planning her own two weddings, or being at potentially two wedding celebrations that we may have in two very different parts of the world — for me. All of this is making me really emotional as I hear her say all of these things.

That’s the thing about old friends. Even when parts of me may feel like we are growing apart, do not understand each other a lot of the time, and have a lot of differences, I have moments like this when I realize how much they really do care about me and want to do whatever is possible for me to be happy. And I can’t help but be overwhelmed with gratitude that there are people in my life who do care this much. Not everyone is as lucky as I am.

Chris’s parents are elated over our engagement. According to Chris’s mum herself, she says that they are so happy, “bursting at the seams,” and are ready and waiting to help in whatever way they can. It’s the most heart-warming feeling to know that I have in-laws that care and love so deeply that they cannot help but share all of their happy thoughts and desires with us about what they can do to help with wedding planning.

Yesterday, she e-mailed me to ask if I could share two specific photos with her of Chris and me. One is from Portland when we went to visit a beautiful waterfall at the Columbia River Gorge, and another one is of the two of us very recently when we were in Pennsylvania and visited Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater private residence. I wondered for a bit what she could be using these photos for, and then it dawned on me that she is probably sharing photos of the two of us to their 500 or so Indian relatives all over the world, particularly to those who have not seen Chris for some time and who have no idea I exist or what I look like. I wonder if they will wonder how Chris ended up with an Asian? And then, maybe they will wonder if I will wear a sari at the wedding? That actually isn’t a bad idea and excited one of my friends today, as it was her suggestion to make my wedding “unforgettable.” Well, obviously, this friend is not Indian. 🙂