Gary

On April 16th, I think of my brother, Gary, for this is the day he died, in 1982--thirty-six years ago. A longer time than he lived on this earth. Of course, I think of him nearly every day, in one way or another, just as I think every day of everyone I love or have loved. They are all part of my own consciousness, contributing to the daily progression of my life. We are remembered by the memories that remember us.

It is always difficult for me to imagine Gary beyond the realities of the time he was here on earth. I wonder what he would think of Bali. Gary, who never in his years left the mainland United States. I wonder if he would like it here. I think that he would. I can imagine him hanging out with me on the beach, or here in the coffee spot. Everyone would know him and like him. There were no boundaries to his ability to connect with people. That's just the way he was. 

I used very often to dream of Gary, but I don't anymore. Perhaps he, through those recurrent dreams, finally entered a door to a permanent rest in me. Perhaps I carry him along without having to seek him any longer. There was a time, after he died, when I would wear his clothing in order to make myself feel closer to him. But ultimately, it was clothing, that could be touched, smelled, worn, that was temporary, and memory that was permanent I wear him not on the outside, but on the inside.