This week my heart welled up with joy each time I caught myself thinking of my brother. I was one blessed sister. It may be true that I think about Bryan more each day since he died than I ever did when he was an accessible, active, present fixture in my life. His face, his huge grin and long-lashed brown eyes, flashed before my mind so many times this week.
We vacationed right on the Pacific Ocean this week. Out-grown tent, over-used airmattresses, forgotten flashlights, icky-yucky gross bathrooms, expensive showers--the whole bit. I confess that Bryan and the beach really shouldn't go in the same sentence. He hated the sand. I have no memories, NONE, of us ever playing in the waves together or building sandcastles or burying each other in the sand. Last year Reilly had a beach birthday party and Bryan even conveniently got out of attending. Once he came after we had spent the day in the sun and surf but only because I bribed him with a campfire hotdog and s'mores. The man could not turn down hot dogs blackened on a coat hanger. With mustard.