random thoughts – Day 1,577 – (Friday) – john's birthday

When we were wee ones.

July 12 is the anniversary of my brother John’s birth. The last time I spoke with him was the night of his birthday in 2021. I called as he was driving to his home on Cape Cod after being out on his friend’s fishing boat all day so we cut the call short. I knew if we didn’t talk within the next couple days I could count on a call from him on my own birthday in four weeks. I certainly didn’t think he’d be dead in the space of a couple weeks and maybe he didn’t either. Life has a way of throwing curveballs and monkey wrenches.

When we were young kids, our birthdays were sometimes celebrated at a joint cake and ice cream party on a weekend when family could gather. When we were a bit older, from July 12 until August 12, he took great delight in torturing me with the information that we were now the same age and I wasn’t the oldest anymore. As a kid, it always made me mad which was exactly the desired result and the fuel to inspire more torture. It was serious business being the eldest.

When we were adults, John, my sister, and I made a pact. The agreement was that I would stay 30 years old, he would remain 29, and my sister would hold at 25. It was our greatest sibling agreement and longest lasting delusion. Like we could just stop the advance of age. 

Today, to crowd out any sadness of the day, I tried to keep busy. There were small puzzles to occupy the brain such as why the Jeep is again giving dashboard messages in Italian and why my tire pressure is suddenly low and also which nearby gas stations have air machines.

The workday was ruled by the feeling that time was standing still. Frozen. Longest frigging day ever.  At 11:00 a.m., I worked on 49 things and ate lunch and then it was only 11:40. It felt like a year had passed and then it was only 1:00. The whole day felt like being in a state of suspended animation. 

Fixing the window trim.

Early in the day, there was mild excitement at the appearance of a hulking mass outside the window at the office. It turned out to be not a graphic novel hero or villain scaling the building, but a bucket lift thing. Two guys were repairing and painting the trim on the building. I hope there is another pass to clean the window, because it’s crusty with dirt, pollen, rain splatters, and whatever else hits a fourth-floor city window.

After work, Merrimack and the nearby streets were clogged with traffic. The sidewalks were busy with folks in suits and dresses as the first day of this weekend’s edition of the Jehovah’s Witnesses event at Tsongas let out for a break. It was basically a typical July Friday evening in downtown Lowell, buzzing with activity.

Frozen in time, when we were three.

By then, work was done and it was safe to let my brain and heart shift from work things and start buzzing with thoughts of John on this anniversary of his birth. The childhood birthday parties, the crazy adult weekend-long parties at his home on the Cape. He was always ready to act as host and tour guide and entertain with a joke and a funny story. 

Sometimes, it’s easy to pretend he’s just at his job and house on the Cape and we’ll see him around the time of the next birthday or major holiday. Most of the time, it’s just a giant gaping void. Miss you dude.