Celebrating a birthday while grieving
Today is my birthday. I am now 37-years-old. Today is different than all of my other birthdays I have had. My oldest brother Kenny went Home in April. This is my first birthday without him. Up until now, I had 36 years worth of hugs from him, and as we got older and lived states apart, calls and texts. Today, while I got many beautiful and touching messages, I lacked one. I would hear my phone and basically expect a miracle. It did not come. Instead, I replayed a voicemail he left me last year. I had to work that day. He mentioned that, but added, “The good thing is, we are on the right side of the dirt.” That was his humor. And truth. He often got disgusted with societal complaints and wished people could just be happy being upright. I am, bro, but it is taking me a while to adjust without you. That is where I am: a state of adjusting. I miss his questionable humor. I miss his in-your-face honesty. I try to verbally kick myself in the ass like he would. Some days it works, som