My emotions have been going crazy the last week, and I’ve found myself tearing up and remembering how horrible this time last year was. I kept playing in my head the image of my brother walking up and down the Golden Gate Bridge, waiting for lesser foot traffic so he could get his moment to jump.

Last night, I dreamt that I was back home just days after he died, and I was going through all of his belongings. I was sitting on the living room floor surrounded by piles of papers and books and boxes of his many toys and collectibles. I opened a box with a lot of miniature figurines no bigger than my thumbnail, and I’m admiring each of them one by one, wondering how he had all these little things and I had no idea. In the dream, my mouth feels dry and my entire head feels numb. And the house is somber and I am alone, all by myself, surrounded by Ed’s things.

This dream was disappointing because I never even got to see him; who wants to dream about remembering pain and misery and losing someone? I think he might do this to me purposely. When he hasn’t visited in a while in my dreams, and I want him to come, he doesn’t come. And this time of the year will always be the worst because not only does it contain the anniversary of his death, but just one month later, what would be his birthday. And this year, it would have been his 35th. My poor Ed never got to see his 35th birthday. Yet life goes on without him.

I spent a lot of the morning in bed thinking about Ed and the words my friend had written me in that card I received last night. I thought about how his life was cut short voluntarily, and how he had so much more to breathe in and experience. And then, later in the morning, I find out that someone else I have seen regularly, about once a month for the last year and a half, has also died.

Our building has arranged for an exterminator to do regular checks of each apartment monthly, and for the longest time, the same man would come knock on our door on a Saturday morning and inspect and spray our bathroom and kitchen. He was generally a friendly person and always smiled. Today, another exterminator came in to inspect the apartment, and having polite conversation with us, he asked if we remembered him. Of course we did, we said. We saw him every month. Well, he died, this man said.

Apparently, he died of a brain aneurysm. He supposedly seemed completely fine beforehand, but the aneurysm ruptured, and he died. It was such a shock to both of us when we found out. We saw him regularly for so long, and now suddenly, he is dead and we’re never going to see him again.

I spent a lot of today thinking about this on and off. We didn’t really know him as a person; he was just the exterminator who came to make sure our apartment was roach and rodent-free. He’s someone we saw regularly but had no real, deep relationship with. It still makes me sad. He’s someone who was in our lives, but at the same time, not. He couldn’t have been any older than 40 or 45. How does one even prevent a brain aneurysm? Or are we all just going to die of something ridiculous like this, or as I keep hearing, of some stupid, new form of cancer that seems to be a result of the chemicals and additives in the food we eat in today’s “modern” society?

While it would be great if my entire wider family were functional and we all got along, that is simply just not true. You know it’s not true when you call your mother after work, and she asks you, “Did your Auntie X call you lately?” You answer no, and she says, “Good.” What kind of response is that?

It’s as though every time a family member contacts me, my mother hates it. She doesn’t want anyone reaching out to me or telling me anything. She especially doesn’t want me to tell them anything about my life, like where I have traveled to, what restaurants I have eaten at. Why? Because for some reason, all of those things seem negative to my parents because they can be spun in such a way that supposedly makes me look bad or snobby or careless.

My mother said to me yesterday while getting angry at me for getting exasperated at her, “You always think that your mom is so negative when I am trying to be positive. You are the negative one.” I think both of my parents define psychological projection.

I’ve realized that I’ve found myself silently fuming over my parents and all of their negativity and flaws this week. In the last year, I’ve had moments or hours when I would go over and over in my head why they are so miserable and negative when I think about my brother and how he isn’t with us anymore, but they would eventually pass. This week, it seems to be a reoccurring thing that comes and goes constantly throughout the day. When I least expect it, I am getting more and more angry with them. I am remembering one event after another that they have managed to make more difficult or just completely ruin.

I realized tonight that maybe one reason these feelings are re-surfacing to the extent that they are is because the anniversary of Ed’s passing is like a reminder to me about all the anger I’ve had against them and how they helped drive him to the lowest point in his life. As much as I want to have a functional relationship with them, a part of me will never forget how poorly they treated him, especially when you compare their treatment of him to their treatment of me.

Tonight, like I anticipated, my mother asked and obsessed over the same things I predicted. Since she knew I had dinner with my cousins’ cousins in Montreal, she asked me five hundred annoying questions about their family and made sure to add in the 100-dollar question, “I don’t mean to be nosy, but who paid the (dinner) bill?” There’s really no winning here no matter what answer I give. There are three possible answers: 1) I paid, which would infuriate her, 2) they paid, which she would be mad about because then she’d feel a massive, guilty need to re-pay them immediately because it’s impossible for her to truly believe that anyone would willingly do anything nice for me without expecting something in return as soon as possible, or 3) we split the bill, which also would drive her crazy because then we were all cowardly and none of us would take the initiative. Of course, when I said it didn’t matter and that my cousin paid the bill, she got annoyed and asked if I had bought them a gift. No, Mom, I didn’t immediately run to a store to buy them a gift after dinner because I’m not that transparent. But I will remember that they were so generous, and I will most definitely offer and pay the bill when they decide to come to New York eventually.

It’s a good thing that I’ve somehow managed to un-learn a lot of the stupid, negative things my mother has tried to teach me. I shouldn’t feel guilty when people are nice and pay the bill for me and feel like I “owe” them something ASAP. When I pay the bill for others, I shouldn’t feel like I am “waiting” for them to pay next time. It should just be what it is, and if I surround myself with good people, we should all be good and generous with each other. It doesn’t have to be negative if you can just look at it positively and think that maybe not everyone is out to “get” you.