Ripped off

I'm reading a book right now called The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. I picked it up before we left L.A. so I would have something to read on the plane to Sydney. I actually didn't start reading it until we arrived. It's an interesting story, but it took a turn I didn't expect and now it's dealing a little with the subject of loss. The following excerpt really struck me:

Fragmentary emotions possessed and released him, drawn like garments from a wardrobe and discarded, one after another.

This line, and other imagery I won't regurgitate here, took hold of me and the grief once again flowed freely. It was like a bandage being ripped off, but part of it was stuck to the wound and when it was pulled away, it took some flesh with it. It's amazing to me how quickly I can be taken back to that place...instantly transported back to that hospital room, standing over him, holding his hand, watching the life leave him. It's still as real and vivid as the day it happened, but yet...not...real...at all. It can't be, can it?

Visions of Tyler

Today was my first Christmas in Australia. Martine and I got up at 6am with the kids and have been going ever since. We had a beautiful picnic at the park with good food and good company. This picture is me with Ethan, Anthony and Vanessa's youngest child. He's a cutie! The day this picture was taken he had decided he wanted to play with me and we bonded. He smiles at me all the time now. I love it. I look forward to watching him grow up.

It was a great day, but I kept imagining Tyler there with us. I could see him clearly, playing with the little kids in the park, chatting with Gary and Spencer, giving mum a hug, and toasting Christmas with Anthony, Vanessa and Ali. I could see him helping Gary and Spence with the bbq at Ali's house tonight. There were a couple of moments when I actually forgot he wasn't really there. I know how much he would have loved my new extended family, how much he would have loved the woman I'm about to marry, how well he would have fit in with all of them. On the way home, I lost my emotional control and I cried. I'm still crying. This is our second Christmas without him and I still DON'T BELIEVE HE'S GONE. It makes me so angry and sad. I want him back every minute of every day.

Merry Christmas, little brother. I miss you and I love you, and this sucks...

Remembering

This is me reflected in a Christmas ball hanging on the tree outside my dad's house. I helped him finish the last of the outdoor decorating on Monday. As we worked I thought back to Christmas of 2007. Tyler was here with us and the three of us installed a basketball hoop on the garage. I stared at that hoop as I worked silently with Dad. The tears came...as usual, but I stifled them. The memory struck me hard. Dad and I had lunch later that day and talked a little about the grief. It's still so hard to believe Tyler was taken from us. I heard from my mom the same day. She was having a memory about Tyler and she was crying. She wanted to hear my voice. It's often still so hard to talk about the loss we're all feeling.

I'm going to take some of Ty's ashes to Australia with me and spread them somewhere on the West coast. I know he would have wanted to go there. I wish he was coming over to hang out with us while we're there. I wish...a lot of things. I know life isn't fair, but THIS IS SOOOOOO UNFAIR AND UNJUST. I don't wish death on anyone but the following statement may give that impression. Why couldn't the universe have taken someone less worthy of life?!? There are many options, I'm sure. Again, I don't wish death on anyone; I just miss my brother. If there's anyone who didn't deserve to die, it's him.

Tonight

I'm not really sure why I picked this photo, other than the fact that it is reflective of Ty's sense of humor. Those of you who knew him probably can see that.

Tonight is really, really, really, really (I could go on....) difficult. A year ago tonight we all gathered at Tyler's bedside to say goodbye. He actually passed away on November 6th, as it was after 1:00am when it happened. It has been a year and I still can't believe he's gone. I can still see him so clearly. I can still hear his deep voice. I can still hear his laughter and it makes me smile.

We're leaving for New Orleans tomorrow and we've been working on our new house all day. The distractions are huge and they are welcome, but they are fleeting. Tonight when I lay down my head and all is quiet, I will think of where I was one year ago tonight...and my heart will break all over again.

If you live in Indy, take a look at the November 6th Indy Star. There will be an ad in the 'In Memory/Obituary' section. If you don't get a paper, you can probably find it online. I miss him so much.

I love you, Tyler.

It's amazing...

The closer I get to the anniversary of his death, the faster the waves of grief are coming. It has been almost a year since I stood by his bedside and watched the life leave his body...and I still can't believe he's gone. I keep expecting to plan the next time we meet for lunch or schedule the next dinner with the folks and it's never going to happen. The finality of that reality is staggering. I had one of those moments last night when I forgot for just a second that I couldn't call him and chat. I had some exciting news to share and I wanted to tell him. It felt like a punch in the stomach when I realized, again...not going to happen.

I'm so angry again, angry about the senseless way he died. It wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be ok. We all believed that...especially Tyler.

Tomorrow is my birthday. It's my 40th. Last year Tyler gave me a birthday card the morning he went into the hospital for surgery. He was even able to mouth "happy birthday" to me on my birthday, four days after the surgery. It's amazing to me (in the worst sense of the word) that I won't get that card this year. Both of my parents expressed the same grief on their birthdays this year. Of course I understood it at the time, but I really get it now.

I miss you so very much, Ty...I can't even put it into words. There are no words. I love you.

Weighing heavily on my mind

It was a year ago yesterday that I got the call from my mother telling me that Tyler was in the hospital. She said he had collapsed at work and had some sort of seizure. The MRI taken after that episode showed that he had a brain tumor at the base of his brain. Anyone reading this blog knows the rest of the story. I still can't believe how it ended. I went out with a co-worker/friend after work that night and we drank...we toasted to Tyler. On my way home I broke down like I never had before in my entire life. It was a primal wailing I had never experienced. I remember calling Martine at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning (she was in Chicago at the time) and crying to her over a crackling cell phone connection. In some ways I think I knew that night that it was going to end badly. I don't know how I knew; it was just a feeling I had deep in my soul. I spoke with Tyler the next day and he tried to reassure me that it would all be ok. It helped a little at the time.

The chill in the air, the leaves changing color and falling to the ground, the signs of Fall, they all remind me of that time we spent here last year. We came into Indy the first time to spend a week with Tyler before his surgery. I am very grateful for that week. I only wish I had spent more of it with him. I'm glad he got to meet the woman I'm going to marry. I only wish he could be there to witness it...to stand up with me.

The photo on this post is from March of this year. We took a trip to Sedona, Arizona to spread Tyler's ashes. That's exactly what I'm doing in this picture. It took close to an hour for me to actually open the container and release him into the wind. For a long time I just stood there, holding the container close to me. I think we all expected to feel a sense of closure after that experience, but I didn't. It was another part of the elusive grieving process, but I'm not sure I will ever find closure in this loss.

Losing Tyler will be weighing heavily on my mind over the next couple of week, as the first anniversary of his death approaches. I still can't believe he's gone...

I miss you, baby brother.

I wish he were here...

He's always with me in my heart and never far from my thoughts. Martine and I were walking around the outside of a beautiful old house today. It's near downtown Indianapolis and it's priced right, but it needs a lot of work. Tyler would have been able to help us determine if it's too much work. He would have been able to help us do the work. He would have loved it!! He actually might have beat us to it if he were still...here.

We peered into the windows and immediately saw the potential of this 4,200 square foot gem, built in 1901. It has beautiful woodwork that is just begging for a little TLC. There's a fantastic screened-in porch off the back of the house and I could see us sitting out there with a group of friends on a warm summer evening. I could see us out there with our coffee and newspaper on a lazy Sunday morning. I could see us creating the home we both crave and building a life there. I could also see us making it beautiful and selling it for a massive profit. Either way, I can see it clearly. Unfortunately, part of my vision included Tyler working on it with us. He was there showing us how to do the things we don't know how to do, he was there leveling out the back deck and making it sturdy and beautiful again, he was there sharing the dream with us...laughing with us. I'm always going to miss that laugh, that smile, that warm voice, that hug. It's really hard to think about taking on a project like this without him, one that would have been so right up his alley. I can only hope that he will watch over us and guide our hands as we transform the run-down and neglected into the beauty we both envision. Listen to me; you'd think we'd already bought the place...

Anger, sadness, missing...

This is kind of a weird picture, I know. It was a picture of Tyler with some of his friends. I don't mean any offense to anyone by erasing, or cropping, them out in Photoshop; I just wanted to put up this picture of Tyler. He's been weighing heavily on my mind over the last couple of days and we had a long conversation today with a friend who is a nurse. We had never told her what happened after he went into the hospital for surgery. All she knew was that he went in and never left. It brought up a swirl of emotions that have been...resting...for a while. We told Sherry and Lisa the story about what happened and I got angry again. I'm angry in general for losing him far too soon, but when I talk about to possibility that it was a doctor's negligence that ultimately caused his death, I get REALLY angry.

Martine and I have been talking lately about possibly buying a fixer-upper house and spending some time working on it, making it pretty, making it a reflection of us...making it ours. This is something Tyler could have helped us do and he would have enjoyed doing it. It makes me really sad that we won't have the pleasure of his company, and the addition of his skills and ideas. It makes me sad that he won't be standing up with me when Martine and I get married.

We were riding a bike trail today near Lockport, Illinois and I saw passed a sign that had his name on it. Like I said, he's been very present the past couple of days and I felt the need to write about it.

My little brother, my friend, my confidant, my rock...he was taken from me too soon. I'm angry; I'm pissed; I shake my head in disbelief every time I think about it. It's not fair. I know life isn't fair, but this really takes the cake...

Peace on ya.

Written in stone

I can't believe it has been a month since I've written on this blog. Obviously I still think about him every day and I still see him everywhere I go. Today I walked down the hall to hang up some towels and I glanced into the last room he slept in before going into the hospital. The reaction was instantaneous...tears. I woke up this morning shaking from a dream I was having about him. I guess it was more of a flashback of me standing over him, sobbing, watching him die before my eyes and not being able to do anything to stop it.

I STILL have trouble uttering, or even thinking, the words "my brother died." We walked through Hope Cemetery when we were in Vermont. There were a lot of amazing statues and elaborately carved headstones...and then there was this one. It said "TYLER" across the middle of it. By that point I was already overwhelmed by the feeling of death all around me and it's even more poignant now that Tyler is gone. I'm over-sensitive to the subject of death. Actually, I'm overly sensitive in general...I think. There it was in front of me...TYLER...carved in stone. Gone from my world. It's still unbelievable to me.

He's everywhere

I have a matted, framed photo of Tyler that I wanted to put up in the van somewhere. There just wasn't an easy way to do that with it in the heavy frame, so I had to take it out. Doing that made me cry. Before we pulled out of the driveway on Saturday, I used velcro tabs to stick the photo to the ceiling of the van. I want to be able to look up and see him at any moment...to know he's there with us on the road. I know he's always in my heart, but I always stumble across little reminders too. This photo was taken at the world famous (ha ha...as if) Fort Cody Trading Post in North Butte, Nebraska. This was the highlight of the store for me. Well, maybe it was the miniature old west show...ummm, no.

I had a dream about him the other night too. I thought about posting the details here, but I've decided to keep them to myself. The jist was that he was injured and I was taking him to the hospital to get him fixed. In the dream, he seemed fine and there seemed to be no rush to get him there. When I woke up, I had a moment of panic and I thought 'if only I would have hurried and got him there faster...'

It was very strange.

I miss him...even though he's everywhere.

Fading in...

Time allows for distraction and distraction is good...I think. I haven't spent as much time dwelling on the loss of Tyler. I haven't really had the brain space lately. Sometimes I think that's a good thing, but the grief still creeps in when I least expect it. The other morning I awoke abruptly because I had an image of Tyler in the hospital the night he died. The image started as just white space and slowly sharpened into full color. I want to say it "faded" in, but the word fade usually implies leaving or dissipating, like that night in the hospital when Tyler faded away from us. I watched his face go from red to pink to blue to white. That's the image I saw on that recent morning as I was just barely on the edge of consciousness. It startled me awake and I sat up. The feeling was that of shock and disbelief. I still have many moments when I can't believe he's really gone. It can't be...it just can't be. I cried on and off all day. I just couldn't shake the cloak of grief that was draped over my shoulders. It's always there; sometimes it hangs in the closet, waiting for me to wear it again.

The video...

Here it is, as promised. This is a video of us spreading Tyler's ashes at Boynton Canyon in Sedona, Arizona. Martine spent a good chunk of time putting it together and I think it's just beautiful. Makes me cry every time I see it. I picked the Patty Griffin song "Up To The Mountain" because it seemed like it would be a good fit...and it is.

I love you, Tyler.

Grief and missing

This was the view out the car window as we were driving down to Indianapolis from Chicago last Thursday evening. The sunset was quite beautiful and it made me think of Tyler. The last time I had been in Indy was November of last year. I had some weird emotional things going on during this trip which I now attribute mostly to sideways grief. I was focused on the shows I would be playing with Martine in Fort Wayne and Indianapolis, so the events of my previous visit were only milling around in the back of my mind. Being back in the city where I had watched Tyler die was difficult. I suppose I should have expected that. It probably would have been smart to address the grief and process it a little while I was there. Now it's kind of coming out in spurts.

Today I removed Tyler from the beneficiary list on my IRA. He was the primary beneficiary and I had forgotten about it. As I pressed the backspace key, removing one letter at a time, I felt the grief well up again. I still want to scream out to the universe, "what the hell happened?!?!??" I wonder if that will ever go away.

We will be spending a lot more time in Indy over the next few months. I need to find a way to get in touch with the grief I now associate with that place and face it. I don't want it coming out sideways. My life is about to change drastically again and I'm really excited about it!!! I know Tyler would be excited for me. I miss not being able to tell him things, face-to-face.

Random thoughts of grief and missing on this first day of April.

It's where he wanted to be...

This is me sitting on top of a beautiful red rock in Boynton Canyon (Sedona, Arizona) with the tin containing Tyler's ashes resting on my knee. Sunday, March 15, 2009, me and 10 other family members hiked up the Boynton Canyon Trail with the intention of releasing his ashes. When this photo was taken, we were all sitting, waiting for the right moment to set him free. That day was particularly hard for me, as it felt like saying goodbye all over again. All the emotions came back up to the surface. I felt like I did the day he died, and I kept seeing his face and how it looked that night in the hospital as the life left his body. It STILL doesn't seem real to me. I can sit here right now and think about the fact that I will never see him again, and it just doesn't seem possible. I cried twice in the car on the way to Sedona. I cried as I was hiking up the canyon with his ashes in my backpack. I cried as I sat on this rock, contemplating what I was about to do. 'It's where he wanted to be...," I thought to myself. He wanted to be in Arizona.

We picked Sedona for it's amazing beauty and energy, and we picked Boynton Canyon because it's the location of an energy vortex. There are 4 in Sedona. It seemed like a good final resting place for what remained of his physical being. After sitting and standing in various spots on the big red rock, I decided it was too crowded with hikers and went around to the other side of it. Everyone followed. I went out on to a flat rocky ledge with my mom and dad behind me. I could hear them crying and it broke my heart...again. My dad read aloud a quote from Tyler, "My 'church' is beside a river in the middle of a forest, or the desert at sunrise/sunset. ‘God’ talks to me when the wind blows across my body and I close my eyes, or when it starts to rain and the sounds from that fill the air." I removed the bag of ashes from the tin, tested the wind, and in three or four motions, I emptied the bag into the wind.

Martine got the whole thing on video and I will be posting that on this blog at some point. I know some of you wanted to be there and could not, so hopefully the video will make you feel like you were a part of it.

I hope he is happy with the view. It was beautiful, as was the day, as is his spirit.

Tyler - You are always with me, always in my heart, always on my mind, forever a part of my soul. I love you.

An honor to be with you...for eternity!

For those of you who don't know, this is Tyler with Connor and Suzanne Spellman. Tyler was Suzanne's birthing coach when she had Connor, and he was a significant person in both of their lives. In many ways he was a father figure to Connor. After Tyler passed away, Connor came to me with a picture taken the day he was born. It was of Tyler wearing a baseball cap with the word "COACH" embroidered across the front of it. Connor wanted to know if I would get the cap for him, so he could have it to keep. My heart broke again in that moment. Of course; Tyler would have wanted Connor to have that cap. My guess is he will always have it, just as he will always have his memories of Tyler.

The following letter was written yesterday by Suzanne and, with her permission, I'm now sharing it with the readers of this blog...

Thank you for listening to me tonight.
Thank you for letting me talk.
Thank you for letting me cry.

I am sorry that I never showed you daily how much you meant to me.
How much you meant to my daily being.
You were the first person that I thought of with triumph and tragedy.
The first person I shared my joys and tears with.
Our late night talks on the front porch or the early morning texts as we passed each other on the road.

I should have told you that you were the one for life on Sunday 10/19/08.
I should have kissed you as if tomorrow would never come.
Turns out, it didn't for us!

I am so sad for the people that will never experience YOU!
Your strength, your wisdom, your humor, your presence.

I have not changed who I am or how I am through all the tragedies and triumphs.
Am I cold? Am I weak? Am I scared?
Or did you take part of my soul with you?

I am realizing that I am not angry or sad or depressed (as many may think) while writing this.
I am happy, relieved and honored that you took a part of me to hold on to....
For eternity!

(Though I don't need to justify or explain what I have written, I must say that I am still sad, still angry for losing Tyler so quickly, so prematurely. But the empty/hollow/aching pain inside of me that burns/screams/festers daily can only be explained by knowing/hoping/wishing that Tyler needed to take a part of me with him. That he felt/understood/knew how much he truly meant to me/my son/my family)

It's been a while since I've been to this place. When I say 'this place' I'm not referring to the lovely scene behind Tyler in this photo. Although it seems like a nice place to be, especially if I could find him sitting there waiting for me. The place to which I am referring is the place of sorrow and devastation. In the time it took me to upload this photo and write those first four sentences, I've been reduced to a blubbering mess. That is what happens when I visit this place. I've been really busy going on with my life and it's going really, really well. I've very excited about the things I'm doing and the things yet to come. I know Tyler would be excited for me too. He would want me to be busy creating the life I want and enjoying every minute.

That's all well and good, but the truth is I just want him to be here so I can tell him everything. I had a dream last night and he was there. That's not so unusual, but in this particular dream he was there because he had come back to life. Everyone else in the dream was acting like that was normal, as if his death had never occurred. I was the only one who was confused about where he came from and how... Even he was looking at me like he was surprised by my reaction. I don't know what the dream means, but I felt like writing it down. Maybe the timing of the dream has something to do with the fact that we planned a date for spreading Tyler's ashes and it happens to be two weeks from yesterday. Maybe it means I've neglected my grieving process because I've been busy with so many other things. Maybe it's random. I don't know.

I miss you, Tyler. I wish my dream could be real.

Never Forgotten

I love how gorgeous Tyler looks in this photo. I was so sure I had posted it before, but I flipped through almost all of my previous posts and I didn't find it. That was hard too...going through the previous posts. When I got to the end, a.k.a. the beginning, Tyler was still alive and desperately wanting to get out of his hospital bed. He wanted to go home. I've said this a bazillion times, but I still can't believe he never left that hospital. He never even left the ICU.

I know I haven't been writing on this blog as much and I know some of you are disappointed. This started out as a way for me to communicate updates on Tyler's condition to friends and family, and after he died, it morphed into a form of grief therapy for me and those who read it. I've loved writing it and probably will continue to makes posts from time to time, but I don't know how often. It will happen when I feel the need to write about it and share those thoughts with others. I'm sorry if this is a let down to anyone, but grief is a living, breathing thing and it evolves. My grief over losing Tyler will always be with me...always...but it will change over time. That doesn't mean that I'm forgetting him. I still think about him daily. I still miss him just as much as I did on the first day he was no longer physically part of my world.

Today Martine and I were rearranging things in the closet and I found two t-shirts of Tyler's that I had kept. One I had given him just this past August. I had bought it for him when I was out on Catalina Island with some friends. I clutched both shirts tightly in my arms for a few seconds and then I cried. My tears over the loss of Tyler will always flow freely. I have felt no greater pain in my lifetime and the scars run deep, to the very core of my soul.

Life and Death

This photo was taken by Tyler's good friend, Ruth Quinde. She said it made her think of him. A lot of things make me think of him, especially now. Today I got a copy of his death certificate in the mail and I cried. It's not getting any easier to accept the fact that he's gone. Standing there holding, reading a tangible, black and white reminder of his death makes it even harder.

This photo shows the birth of a new day, yet I'm talking about death. How very strange, eh?

I miss him...

An unexpected connection

This picture was taken the week before Tyler had surgery. It may have even been the day before. I can't remember now. The pictures taken on that day are sometimes harder to look at than any other pictures I have of Tyler. (The ones of him as a small child are a close second though.) I think back to how I felt during that week. I was nervous but very optimistic. Somehow being around him, and being around all the other mostly hopeful family members, made me think it would all turn out fine. The night I found out about his tumor I was at work. I think I was in shock after the phone call from my mom. I went out with a friend after work and we toasted to Tyler with a shot of tequila. When I got home, I completely lost my composure. Actually, I think I lost it in the car on the way home. I cried harder that night than I ever have...at least up until that point in my life. I just had a really bad gut feeling that night. Little did I know just how accurate that feeling was.

I found an old friend or family friend, or...well, I'm not sure what to call him. We recently reconnected on Facebook and he sent me a message about Tyler. He had lost his sister in 2007 and he had the same kind of relationship with her that I had with Tyler. He said, "She was the closest person to me on the planet from whose loss I will never recover in this lifetime. That closeness was evident to anyone who had the privilege of spending 1 minute around you and Tyler together. So I figure if there's anyone that can feel my pain it would be you. I send you love, and and open offering of anything I can do to help. If nothing else I lend my ear if at anytime you just need someone to listen." He also said, "Your brother was a wonderful, wonderful man with whom I've never had one ill moment, and whose company I enjoyed immensely." Reading his message made me cry. It was nice to connect with someone who knows exactly what I'm feeling. If you're reading this blog, you know who you are and I thank you for reaching out.

I want to send out many thanks again to my friends and family for their continued support. It means the world to me. You know who you are!!!

This was taken in Edmonton, Alberta in August 2008. We were standing our grandmother's backyard reminiscing about the times we played out there as kids. Still kids at heart, we joked with each other the same way we had for years. The picture isn't great of either one of us, but I love it for the closeness it shows.

I was sitting here listening to the rain fall, not a common occurrence here in Burbank, and I remembered sitting on my grandmother's front porch with Tyler. That's what made me want to write a 'Tyler' blog post. I know I've written about that day before. It was the first day we arrived in Edmonton and I was so excited about the possibility of rain showers. Tyler was used to them, as they are a lot more frequent in Indianapolis, but he still sat out on the porch with me to experience it. I've said this before too...I am so grateful for that trip.

Some days I wish I could turn back the clock. I want to go back and tell Tyler about the tumor in the back of his head. I want to go back far enough so I can tell him about before it gets too big. Then maybe they could have removed it without incident. Then maybe it could have been as simple as taking out a wisdom tooth. If I only I could go back, I would do anything to change the final outcome. Anything...

Happy Birthday, Ty

Today we went on a hike to celebrate Tyler's birthday and to pay homage to his too short life of 36 years. He had such a major impact on so many lives, and he was admired and loved by all of them. He would have been 37 today...

This was one of the views from the top of the very steep climb. We sat for a while and took in the sounds. The wind, the birds, and the beautiful sound of silence. I walked over to one side and took this photo. I had put a small portion of Tyler's ashes in a little baggie and I had it tightly clenched in my hand. It took me a few minutes to convince myself that I had brought it with me to leave it behind and I needed to let it go. I inched down the side of the hill a little and stood still again for a time, holding the little baggie in my palm. I opened it and held it in my hand for another minute or two. Then I took it by the bottom edge and, with a sweeping motion, I scattered the contents out in front of me. At precisely that moment I looked up and there were two hawks soaring directly above my head. One of them called out and the sound echoed against the hills. My breath caught in my throat. I had asked Tyler to give me a sign of his presence and I knew that was it. He knew that would get my attention. I had been crying before that moment, but seeing the hawks circling above me brought more tears. I was instantly filled up with his energy and I smiled up at the sky. I remember pointing out hawks to him on many occasions. He teased me about my fascination at first, but then he came to appreciate my affinity for them. After a while I think he started to look for them himself.

Thank you to everyone who lit their candles and sent Tyler birthday wishes today. I did light a candle later. I let it burn while I was getting ready for work. I imagined it on a birthday cake and when I blew it out I said, 'Happy Birthday, Ty.'

Bye, bye. Don't let the shoe hit you in the head...

Hey Ty! Did you see it? Did you see his final wave to the crowd as he boarded the helicopter and flew off to unpresidentialness land? I hope you could be a witness to this historic day on some level. I know you waited a long time to see him go. We have hope that our new president will create the change we need too see in this country. I also hope he's having a stiff drink right now because he's got his work cut out for him. I wish you could have been here in earthly form to see the inauguration. I thought about how happy you would be watching it all go down.

Sayonara, George W. I wish I could say the shoe hit you on the way out, but alas, it did not. Hopefully you will be held karmically responsible for all the damage you've done to this country. Can you see to that, Ty? ;-)

Happy early birthday, little brother. The shrub has been weeded from our government garden.

Light a candle, or...

Tyler's birthday is January 21st. He would have turned 37 this year. It breaks my heart every time I think about it and the tears come instantly. I was getting ready for work today and I had to choke back a sob that spontaneously came out of me. I know I've said this a million times, but I still can't believe he's gone. I came across some photos of me on Facebook that Tyler had added and tagged. He had put captions on a lot of them and that made me laugh. Some of the pictures even had comments on them where we had made smart ass remarks to each other about the content. That made me cry. I sit here now and shake my head in disbelief. How did this happen? I'll never know, but I'll continue to ask.

To celebrate Tyler's life on his birthday, my mom and step-dad came up with an idea to light a candle and let it burn down until it goes out on its own. They are asking friends and family to do the same. Their candle will be lit at about 5pm Indiana time. That's 2pm on the West coast, 3pm in Phoenix and Edmonton, 4pm in Chicago...you can figure out the rest from there. If this is something you want to do, I encourage you to do it. I'm not sure lighting a candle is the right thing for me. I mean no offense to my parents, or anyone else, by saying that. Tyler's memory burns strong in my heart and it will never be extinguished. I just don't think I can light a candle and watch it burn out. It's too symbolic of what is gone, not what remains. I am planning my own ceremony of sorts, with Martine. We're going to hike up to the top of a hill that overlooks the San Fernando Valley. Some would call it a mountain, but I've been told by the locals that it's just a hill. Believe me, it feels like a mountain when I'm hiking to the top. Tyler will be with me as I trudge up that steep incline. I'm not sure what that trek will hold for me when I get to the top, but it will bring me symbolically closer to him. That's where I want to be on that day of his birth.

Whether you decide to light a candle, hike to the top of a mountain, or come up with your own way of remembering Tyler's birthday, I thank you for loving him and honoring him with your memories.

A fierce love

This picture was taken in October of 2006. A group of us went to The Melting Pot for my birthday dinner. I moved out of Indy less than a month later and I haven't spent much time looking back. I miss some things about it. Now I miss the time I could have had with Tyler if I hadn't moved away, but it was a good move for me. I always thought there would be more time. We went to The Melting Pot again for my birthday this year. We were in Indy for Tyler's surgery. The mood wasn't as celebratory as it had been two years prior, but that night we still had hope. That day Tyler had mouthed 'Happy Birthday' and 'I love you' to me from his ICU bed. None of us had any idea of what was to come...

Martine and I were watching Oprah today. I was sort of watching as I did other things around the apartment. I was listening to the story of a couple who had lost one of their sons in a tragic accident. He was only 20 and he was only thirty minutes from the airport when it happened. He was supposed to board a plane that would take him home and he never made it. Instantly I felt for them. I would have felt for them had I heard their story a year ago, but today I felt it on a whole new level. I was listening to them talk about how the experience of losing their son had changed them forever. The mother said something that really struck me. She said your grief over the loss of a loved one is a testament to how much you loved that person. It will always be with you should be worn like a badge. I could relate to everything they said and, in a way, it felt good. I have a great support system, but some days I feel alone in my grief. Listening to them reminded me that I am no alone.

I also got an email from my mom today. It made me sad for her and what she is going through. I've talked before about how my grief is different from that of my parents, but it's also the same in many ways. We all loved Tyler very much and he loved all of us with a fierce love. We all need to know that and burn it into our memories, so it is always with us. No doubts and no regrets.

Grief is a living, breathing entity. It is always moving and evolving. The one thing that remains constant is its presence. It may lessen with time, but it will always be there.

Random, but not really...

I laugh every time I see this photo and I see it every day. It's on our photo wall at home. Tyler put on a good 'ick' act, but I know better. He loved those sisterly kisses on his scruffy cheek. Even when we got angry with each other, it would never last long. We relied on each other too much for love and support to let anything come between us.

Last night I'm sitting at dinner with my love. We had just come off of a day in the recording studio and a 6 mile bike ride. We're drinking margaritas and sharing a tostada, and talking about our trip to Australia toward the end of this year. It was an exciting conversation, full of adventures yet to come. I was gazing at her, taking in the external and internal beauty I see every time, and I thought about Tyler. It was one of those moments when I had a fleeting thought about sharing my excitement with him. Telling him about the trip we're planning, telling him about the other adventures we've been discussing, telling him about her and how much she means to me. I started to get tears in my eyes and she asked me what was going on. I didn't tell her about it in that moment. She smiled and grumbled, and told me how difficult it is to get things out of me sometimes. The problem was I knew if I talked about it, I wouldn't be able to stop the flood. I didn't want to cry...in that moment.

Later in the evening we were watching a television show. There was a character who worked in a hospital and they thought he had a brain tumor. Turns out it was only scar tissue, but seeing the hospital setting and hearing the words 'brain tumor' was enough to bring the tears again. This time and let them fall, just for a minute. She knew without me saying it outloud. It was one of those random, but not really...moments.

The images, like lightning

This is Tyler at 15 months, according to the scrawl at the top of the photo. So beautiful. By the time he was this age, I think I was over the issue I had when he was first born. Those of you who have younger siblings may already know what I'm talking about. It's the feeling that you have to compete for your parents' affections and attention. You glare at your younger, seemingly cuter, sibling, with tiny daggers when your parents aren't looking. Obviously I got through that phase. My baby brother became one of the most important people in my world. He still is...even though he is now gone from my physical world.

The waves of grief have been coming more frequently over the past few days. I have images of him jumping into my head without warning. There's no trigger; they just appear like a flash of lightning. Some make me laugh, some make me smile, some make me sick to my stomach, but they all make me cry. Last night on my way home from work, I got an image of him, of his face, the way it looked the moment he died. I don't know why it came to me. Though his pallor was beyond white, he looked at peace, much like he does in this photo. I cried as I drove and I started talking to him, out loud. I think that was the first time I've done that since he passed away. I was telling him about how people keep telling me to talk to him, but that I hadn't quite figured out how to do that... Then I realized I was doing it and I had to chuckle in spite of myself.

I miss him.

I never imagined

Dear Tyler,

I never imagined that grieving the loss of you would be so complex, but then again...I never imagined that I would lose you. I still have trouble believing it really happened and I'll never understand why. I can only think that maybe you were meant for bigger and better things in some alternate existence. Is that true?

So, I acted a fool again last night and I am ashamed. I apologized to everyone who was in range when my meltdown occurred, multiple times to the one who matters most, but I don't really feel better about it. I've been told by many people today not to beat myself up and to go easy on myself. Of course no one is harder on me than I am. We're always our own worst critic, right? I know you were a witness to that many times and you talked me down many times. I wish I could talk to you now. I guess I am talking to you, but I wish I could hear you talk back. I want you to tell me I am strong and I will get through this. I want you to say quit acting a fool, fool!! I'm laughing now because I can hear you quoting Eddie Murphy..."Yeah, Foo, retire!" Damn, we could rattle off movie quotes for days, couldn't we? I digress. I've been introspective all day, trying to figure myself out. Remember Thanksgiving 2007 when you made me promise you I would find a counselor when I got back to California? Thank you for doing that. It did help. I think I may need to do it again for a while. What do you think? Waiting...take your time...I know; I probably don't even need to ask. I just need to do it.

So, what is that you just said? Oh...you can't believe I put this picture up?! I know, it screams 80s, but it also shows how much we care about each other. That's what I like about it. I know you can't believe you were wearing that sweater. Will you look at mine?!?! What's up with the sleeveless sweatshirt look? I just need to pull it down off one shoulder. "She's a Maniac, Manic..." I digress again.

Thanks for listening, Ty. I've been told by many people that I should talk to you. I'm not sure if I've figured out how to do that yet, but this is a start. You were my knight in shining armor on many occasions. Thank you for always looking out for me. I miss you and I love you.

Always,
D