March Fucking 10th...

So, of the three people who read this blog, probably only one of them knows that today is my brother's birthday.  Or was my brother's birthday.  Or should be my brother's birthday.  I don't fucking know.  All I know is that my brother's dead and if he weren't, today he'd be 22.

So, instead of taking him to the Angus for a shot this weekend, or going to a strip club (oh, yes I would have!), or even calling him up just to say, "Hey..." I'm writing this stupid blog.  And if you haven't noticed, I'm still furious at him.  

But, he did visit me in my dreams on Wednesday night (March 4th -- interestingly enough, our cousin's birthday).  It was the first time since, I think, last January 21st.  Anyway, in the dream we were sitting on the front porch swing of the house we used to live in (outside Clarkstown).  In the dream I was my age and Joel was the age I remember him.  We were kind of leaning against each other, swinging back and forth and I was telling Joel what happened to him.  He didn't know and I was telling him and sobbing and he didn't want to hear it, but he listened to the whole sordid story.  He said he didn't remember any of it, and he just kept shaking his head in disbelief.  He felt really bad.  

The next scene, we were walking down the hallway of an old farmhouse I didn't recognize.  There were lots of doors on either side of us, but we kept walking to the one at the end.  I was in front and he was right behind me. 

The next scene was Dad, Joel and me putting siding up on the barn.  Joel and I were each holding and end of a pine board and Dad was using a nail gun.  Then Dad started screwing around with the nail gun, swinging it towards us and acting crazy.  I screamed at him what the fuck did he think he was doing?, was he crazy?, didn't he know he could shoot a nail through someone's head and it would kill them?  Jee, I wonder what that part of the dream meant?  (duh...) 

For the last week or so I've been thinking about Joel more than usual (birthday week and all).  And even though I haven't talked more than usual about him, or played his music, or looked at videos, somehow Addie must be getting a vibe, because for the last week or so she's been asking about him and talking about him.  

Here's the latest conversation:

Addie:  Is Uncle Joel dead?
Me:  Yep.  Uncle Joel is dead.

Addie:  How did he die?

Me:  Well, he hurt himself.
Addie:  How?

Me:  He hurt himself really badly.

Addie:  I know, but how?

Me:  [pause...think, think, think...]

Addie:  Well?  How?

Me:  [pause]  Well, honey, actually he shot himself.

Addie:  With a gun?!

Me:  Yes.

Addie:  [Exasperated]  Why would he do that?!?!

Me:  That's a good question, honey.  We don't really know.

He'd be graduating college this year.  I was sure he'd be a crime writer, or an FBI profiler.  He wasn't sure, though he knew writing would be something he'd always do in some form or another.  

He'd be teaching Kiefer to wrestle and he'd be showing Addie how to hold a guitar.  He'd be laughing with me about some damn thing or another.  He'd be talking to Chris about some kind of psycho babble.  He'd be drinking a beer with us at Loralie's birthday.  We'd all pick on Gram.  He'd tap my arm and shake his head.  He'd give me the finger shake.  He'd laugh and bend all the way over and put his hands on his knees.  

He should be and he would be.  But he isn't and he won't.  

Joel, I miss you always and love you to the end.   

Credits:  From "Bird's the Word" Collaboration kit: papers by arti-bytes and Creative Confusion (both altered). High Tower Text and Tempus Sans fonts. Adobe PSCS.