Eat, Love, Pray

Stewed Chicken with Quinoa

Brother Dave's Birthday gravesite. His family shared photos of their celebration of his memory

I don't understand how to selfie.  I have not practiced much but once or twice a year I'll see a great photo of someone and think I could pull that off but turns out, no, no I can't.  First of all you don't take them in the mirror but otherwise my nose always looks twice it's size. 

So my niece shared a story on group text about my brother's love of chocolate cake, her dad who passed.  So at work that day, a coworker coincidentally brought an entire box of these sweet little cupcakes from Baked, mostly chocolate.  I had two like a maniac.  Another blessing was that we had food catered in from El Mexicano, the most tasty Mexican take out I've had in Brooklyn.  I thought of brother Lobo and how in Catholic school you brought treats in for your birthday to give to your classmates.  I always loved that idea because it taught kids that you could actually share and give instead of get on your special day.  Possibly brother sent these blessings! 

Aw But Ain't That America For You and Me?

As I suspected the 4th of July now held the memory of my brother's passing, even though it happened on the night of the 2nd, it will always be associated with the 4th.  This is a time to circle back with family and share thoughts of him, remember our beautiful brother.  That will become more joyful and hold beauty eventually but for now and some time it will not be a great day for any of us.  At work I allowed myself one chili hot dog in recognition of the holiday but held no interest in watching the fireworks or making festive food at home.

All Day Music

Mediterranean Chicken and Rice

This was the first full on meal I actually spent time making in my kitchen since the passing of my brother.  I keep trying to fill my mind with positive thoughts but I just keep coming back to the fact that he is gone.  My complex beautiful brother. I'm sick inside. I feel tired and disinterested.  But I do notice the softness that exists in the day, maybe even more so.  He was just here with us, battling his cancer, hopeful that his treatments would be effective.  He was telling us of all the things he would do when he got well.  And we had hope.  I believed he would get better, as did my siblings and his kids and grand kids. Sure, it was becoming less likely but anything was possible just two short weeks ago.  I wanted to begin doing more, like sending him uplifting music, albums that reminded me of him. I thought to send him handwritten letters.  But he was becoming too sick to bother with any selfish notions.  That's the hardest part in caring for someone who is fighting for their life. You must understand so much of it has nothing to do with you, come to grips with your insignificance to the situation. You do not hold any power.  And your love only seems to linger in the air instead of penetrating it's target.

 The biggest and only gift one can really give anyone is their sincere love.

Now, mourning feels like lactating love.  Where your heart automatically secretes an outpouring of affection that has nowhere to go.  You can't put it back in or use it on another, it just hangs around getting stale.

Grief has legs too.  It is the distress and heartache that fills your whole body until you finally comply.

 Eventually this will get remedied and replaced by fond, tender memories and reflection of his grace. And by faith.

I'll get back to cooking great meals in my tiny kitchen, laughing, taking pictures, brushing my cat. And for sure an all day music marathon of songs that remind me of him. But I'm not ready to leave my brother even if the sadness I'm holding onto has nothing to do with his real soul.  It's all I ever really owned of him to begin with.