My little brother would have been 31 today. I can remember the morning that he came into this world. In the hospital waiting room very early in the morning, a sweet old woman gave me lifesavers. After he was born - the doctor picked me up and took me to see my Mom and new baby brother - even though it was against the rules. Ryan.
My first birthday gift to him was Chicken Pox! It was a bad case too - all the first birthday photographs show those marks clearly. He was such a smart kid - always taking things apart to figure out how they worked. To my Mom's dismay - this curiosity even claimed the kitchen phone. Being almost six years apart - we weren't that close - but we did have a connection. We used to have 'feet fights' on the living room couch- I remember that so clearly - yet so much is just a blur. Even as we reached adulthood - we would still wake up in the wee hours on Christmas Morning - and watch movies together - usually Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Waiting for Mom and Dad to wake up - we'd dive into our stockings together.
I didn't get him anything for his last birthday - his 21st - and though my Dad tried to make me feel guilty about that - I never have. You see, I had just given him one hundred dollars so that he could pay a speeding ticket, so that was my birthday gift to him. One of my last conversations with him - he confided to me that he had rescued a cat and was keeping it in his room - feeding it pizza and probably trying to see if it was possible to get a cat high. He then went on to tell me that he was concerned that I was going to get married, have a kid and get fat. (Which is basically what - happened).
I took him to the airport on the afternoon of April 19, 2001. He gave me a journal and asked me not to read it - not to let anyone else read it - but to keep it safe. He gave me a hug and said "See ya babe." He boarded a flight to San Diego, California with a plan. I drove home from the airport somehow knowing that I would never see my little brother again, listening to music. I have not been able to listen to music while driving by myself since without breaking down in tears. In the next few days my parents tried to get in touch with him and bring him home. Booked a greyhound bus ticket for him. He never made it to the bus terminal.
On the night of April 22nd he went to LA (he thought he was Jesus) and gave away all of his possessions except for the clothes on his back and his wallet. The next day he went back to San Diego. He made his way to the roof of the San Diego Harbor Island Hotel - and looking out at the ocean - took a leap. He was declared at 8:51pm on the west coast. At 2:38am on the 24th - our doorbell rang.
So absolutely unreal, I don't know how my Mom and Dad made it through the next few hours. I don't think they ever truly lived again. Until my Dad's death this past August - he was always trying to find out how to fix 'it' - my Mom - still alive - will always blame herself. Constantly looking back on her life - scrutinizing the smallest details - trying to figure out what she did wrong. How can you tell a parent - that it was not their fault - and have them believe it? My Dad called one of Ryan's friends shortly after the police gave him the news - and not 15 minutes later ten friends were sitting in our living room. Pale twenty somethings - utterly shocked. I'm thankful every day that my love was there with me that morning - having spent the night. He was there for my Dad and there for my Brother's friends - he was there for my Mom, too, but I don't think she felt deserving of anyone's consolation.
His decision was made as soon as he boarded that flight. That notebook he gave me to keep safe contained a note. That is the guilt I carry. Every day. If I could just go back - and not have taken him to the airport that day. There's no bringing back the dead.
Happy Birthday, little Brother. I hope that wherever you are - that Dad and Link are with you - playing ball in a big grassy field.
