August 5. Still.

This day comes mercifully but once each year. The anniversary of my brother’s passing. August 5. A day like any other. Only not at all. I might have spent this solemn day locked in thought, clutching remembrance, playing his guitar, listening to his absurdly massive collection of home recordings, watching his silly – and really, really hilarious – sketches and skits. I might have done that. I might have gotten a certain tattoo I’ve planned these five years, perhaps mirrored another of his vast and colorful collection of body art. I might have done all that. But I didn’t. I awoke, perceptive of the day it was and went to work. I worked all day and then spent a few moments – subtle, ordinary and because it’s so ordinary, quite divine – moments with my two perfect sons. The remainder of the evening may well bring somber grief, but so be it. Five years gone. Today is August 5. A day like most any other. Only not really at all. He was a son, a brother, a friend, a father. And a force. Carry on my brother.