I don’t eat my apple in my hand. I actually like to have it sliced up and most of the time, even peel the skin off. The waxy texture of most non-organic apples has always annoyed me, but I’m trying to get over it by cutting off just some of the skin. And then other times, I buy organic apples.

Now, I cut fruit for Chris and me every day. He won’t eat fruit unless I cut it up for him (leaving it in the fruit bowl isn’t enough. He barely notices it). While cutting fruit today, I thought about how Ed used to also peel off apple skin and slice up all of his fruit. When I was home, we used to cut each other fruit and leave it there for each other if we were both there. I guess that’s another thing we have in common; we both continued eating fruit the same way it was served to us when we were kids. And then I was reminded of how our mother said that in the last couple of months before he left us, he stopped cutting up fruit and eating it altogether unless my mom cut it and put it in front of him. That must have been how little he cared at that point.

It would be nice to cut up fruit for Ed again.

Today marks the 50th anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s death. The entire country remembered him today in many different tributes and TV specials and mentions across all major news sources.

Today also marks four months since Ed left us. It’s funny when I think about it – whenever the anniversary of his death comes each year on July 22, the rest of the world will be celebrating another birthday for the son of Prince William and Kate Middleton, while my parents and I will be mourning the fact that I will never see my brother again. And now today, when everyone else is celebrating the life of JFK, I am thinking of my brother’s ashes sitting in his niche at the San Francisco Columbarium and why life had to be so cruel to him.

I suppose JFK has had a legacy in my own life. Chris actually mentioned this when we were watching the JFK mini series months ago. It sounds twisted, but if JFK had never been assassinated, he would have opposed being a part of the Vietnam War, which meant that my dad would never have been drafted to go. If he were never drafted, he never would have met my mother, so therefore, Ed and I never would have been born. It’s strange how things work out.

I’m not crying as often as I was months ago, but I still miss you, Ed. And as Thanksgiving and Christmas get closer, it feels a little worse and worse knowing you aren’t around anymore. Even if others aren’t thinking about you as deeply, I definitely am. I even took the big Macy’s Snoopy you gave me out of the closet against Chris’s “anti-clutter” wishes. He’s sitting on the bean bag in the living room now. He reminds me of you and your love for all things child-like.

Tonight, I had dinner with a former colleague friend and enjoyed lamb cheeks and lamb tagine at an Egyptian restaurant in Astoria. We exchange stories about our crazy friends and their crazy lives, among other things, but apparently, I win the award for having friends with the most dramatic and problem-filled lives. “Can you please stop talking about (insert name of friend)?” he said. “I don’t think I can handle hearing this anymore!” He then adds, “I need to introduce you to some of my friends.”

I would like to make new friends, but these Meetups haven’t really been working out the best, and given recent events in my life, my genuine drive to socialize and meet people is a bit low. He asked me why I am still friends with X, Y, and Z friend given their life decisions because they would be deal breakers for him.

Well, I suppose it isn’t as simple as I’d like it to be. I’ve disagreed with a lot of the decisions (or lack of decisions) that my friends have made over the years, and occasionally (to them, it seems like constantly) I tell them what I think in my own way, which of course, they don’t respond well to. We generally never respond well to anyone who descents from what we believe is the right decision for us, but I still think it’s an important thing to do. There’s no way we could always agree. And that’s also why we have different friends and not just one; when one drives us crazy because of one thing, you still have another friend who can fill that void for you.

I’m lucky I have multiple friends who I can rely on for different things, and they are people I can call close friends. It makes me sad when I think of people who just have a lot of acquaintance-type friends that they can’t lean on for anything other than grabbing dinner or a drink together. And then that reminds me of how bad I always felt that Ed never really had anyone he could call a real friend.

I hope he’s made lots of friends in heaven. Then when I join him one day, we can share friends and all laugh together.

A colleague sent my team this article today entitled, “Mentally Strong People: The 13 Things They Avoid.” It’s a list compiled by a psychotherapist who thought that instead of just focusing on what mentally strong people do, it would also be important to look at what they do not do.

Sometimes, when I am idle and different thoughts are streaming in my head, I remember the first few seconds when I saw my brother for the first time after he jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. He was alone in the Columbarium hall, lying quietly in his casket with yellow roses sprayed over the top. The casket was half open so you could see him waist up. His glasses were on, and he wore the suit my parents picked out along with a shiny purple tie. It was a surreal experience to see him for the first time in four months, not breathing and completely embalmed..all of our shared blood drained out of him. Chris was at my side holding me as we walked up to him, probably that close in case I fainted and someone needed to catch me. Even though I knew he was dead, seeing him with my own eyes was such an excruciating shock. It was like cold electric sparks seeping through my blood stream and causing my breaths to shorten. And where those electric shocks were not being felt on my body, every other part was numb. The only words to come out of my mouth were, “Oh my god” over and over again.

That was the second worst moment of my life, with the first being when I found out he was really gone from this world. In both of those moments, I remember all these morbid thoughts going through my mind, like if someone just decided to run over me in their car or shoot me in the head, it would be okay because I could join Ed in heaven and see him sooner. At least I’ve had experiences I’d been really happy about that I felt enriched my life, like traveling to Asia and Europe, graduating from college, living in another city, falling in love, having a group of close friends. In those moments, I kept thinking about how Ed never had any of that and how much I hated that he didn’t. It just isn’t fair, and I keep thinking about it without even realizing it, and I catch myself.

I can still see his face from that day of his service. It often flashes in my mind when I least expect it. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or bad, but the one thing that is for sure is it always brings a sinking sensation.