I'm listing to Nirvana's heart shaped box while I write this. It is my favorite Nirvana song. My brother knew it. I was forever borrowing this album from him. Every time a Nirvana song comes on the radio, I turn up the volume, think 'Bryan this one is for you' and I try my best to sing along with the lyrics (only knowing about half of them).
This week will mark two years since my brother's death and the last time I saw his face. And while I am not going to spend the day huddled in a mournful, suffering ball--I do see that this time can be one of reflection.
This is my brother, Bryan Canter.
He was born on September 4, 1984 and died on January 25, 2010. In between are a million memories and pieces of him all wrapped up and knotted in me. Thousands upon thousands of stories I don't have time to share or can not remember.
I don't write about him or his passing as much as I once did. This might cause you to believe that I'm "over it". But as anyone who has lost someone dear to them knows, you never get "over it". You learn to live with the absence. You don't cry all the time, but you still will cry.
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I was in the book store with Jason. I turned and saw a new Nirvana book. It had foldouts of Kurt Cobain's scrapbooks.
This would be the perfect gift for Bryan!, I thought. He will love this!
He will never see this.
Bryan is dead.
It's like falling--this sudden intense mourning. A great pit opens in my chest and it is filled with sadness.
I wish he could see it...
No, I'm not "over it."
I never will be.
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Bryan was my little brother. We fought. He was annoying and rude. He was sweet and sensitive. He cried a lot. He often got in trouble. He stood up for me and protected me. He loved cats. He would eat my half of the junk food if I didn't lick it right in front of him. I used to yell, "Baby brother power!" and he would transform into my own personal Superhero to defend my honor. He loved smoking pot. Believe it or not, he used to be smaller than me. He would jump off the roof of my mother's house and into her pool (I didn't tell). I wish he was still here with us, but he's not. All we have left are our memories.
I remember you, Bryan.
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