First, a few photos from 30.5 years of life. From top left: Spirit fingers/golden boy at the beach. Next: Mother & son (my aunt joked that they looked like a California couple--"he's got the looks, she's got the money").
Below, left: With buddy John Rose, Rod flashes one of his lady-killing looks for the camera. Last: On the set with Ponch(!). We still have the action figure he's holding.
While March 21 is officially the two-year anniversary of my brother Roddy's death, I started to feel a sharper tug of mourning again at Ian's birthday, March 15, because I remember the last conversation we had. I remember my flash of anger/annoyance when Rod called from work to say he couldn't meet us for dinner & then the small reconciliation when he said we'd see each other at my mom's birthday celebration (March 26). There are so many old and new things that strike me as we reach two years without Roddy—Some notes:
(Click "Read more," below, for more. Warning: This post is more diary-like than most goodairs content.)
1. Two years is a long time not to see someone. Yet, I've still got to get used to the fact that two years is just the beginning of the rest of my life without a brother. Sometimes I think – perversely – that I should be rewarded for how well I'm coping with having no visitation rights. I haven't thrown a fit, stamped my feet and insisted I see my brother NOW. For such good, restrained behavior, I want to hang out w/ him for just a spell before he goes away for such a long time again... (See: I told you this is perverse thinking. Just typing it makes me wistful & impatient with the injustice of an early death.)
2. There are still so many different types of mourning. What's a better word? Aftershocks after the shock of death? One is all about ME (see #1, above). It's about how my world is different (worse off) without Roddy there. I want to see him. I want to consult with him to get his take on new music, new films, etc. I want him to make me laugh. I want him to stretch a joke soo far that it becomes unfunny – and then becomes really funny, because he just keeps at it. I want to be proud of something new he's done or just get another chance to look across the room & feel the pride of being familiarly associated with him. See, these things are about how his death affects ME, in a way.
But there's another whole can of worms that's about HIM. I get struck by this when I spot someone on the subway that has his same shaped sideburns or the curve of his upper lip or the same shoulder span or slight olive tinge to his skin... If there's something in some stranger that makes Roddy seem embodied right near me, I'm socked in the stomach with an entirely different sort of sadness. This comes from watching a young man who happens to share some little resemblance to my brother enjoy his MP3 player, breathe, look around and check out the pretty girls... whatever. Whatever he's doing just drives home the reality that my brother is not able to do any of the things. Have I mentioned this feels unfair?
3. There's one sort of positive thing this anniversary makes apparent: For what seemed like a long time, I worried that my brother's death would overtake his life. I hated the terrible coincidences that made it possible for my brother to be unaccounted for for days back in March 2005. I hated the fact that he died alone. I hated not knowing who the last person he saw before he died was. There are too many other details to go into... (yes, they still hurt to dwell on, so I won't.) But now, in March 2007, remembering March 2005, I realize I don't think about the death details too often anymore. My brother-related thoughts are much more likely to be about his 30.5 years of life.
A final photo: Me with some of Rod's closest friends last March. Note the smiles on faces. One of the great things about memorializing Rod is that it's so nice to see his friends. I'm sorry I won't be in the U.S. this March to reunite.
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As we approach the 25th anniversary of the Malvinas/Falklands War, Yanqui Mike has done a nice job summing up the history of the conflict, which for most of us has been lost in a fog of unlearnt history. One of history's many depressing, useless wars (memorably taken to celluloid in Iluminados por el fuego), it was once memorably described by Jorge Luis Borges as "a fight between two bald men over a comb." Amen.
