A year without you

Holding both the past and the present

Hi Sebastian,

It’s been a year since you passed. But I remember your presence like I saw you just yesterday.

I’m sure most of us do.

I’ve gotten into the habit of closing my eyes whenever I miss you and picturing you.

I picture your face.

Your laugh lines.

Your smile.

Your imperfect teeth that always reminded me of our early childhood in Mexico City.

I picture us hugging and telling each other we love each other.

And then we part ways.

I open my eyes and then continue whatever I was doing.

I guess that’s what grief has taught me this past year. I can always find you in my mind.

April 12th feels like it was a century ago, but also just hours ago when I let myself think about that moment. The call from my mom, and every excruciating hour that followed in those first few months.

That time can only be described as a fog of pain.

Or I can picture you alive at your happiest.

Full of love and light.

Embracing me with so much kindness and love, like only you, Sebastian, could.

One of my last memories with you was going to a brunch spot in Málaga.

I liked what you had ordered more than what I ordered, so I asked if we could share.

You smiled and said of course.

I can’t remember a single time you told me no. (Probably not the norm for most older brothers).

Whenever my birthday came around I’d just tell you what I wanted.

Usually nothing too expensive. I knew life as a freelance cinematographer wasn’t the most lucrative. But that’s why I have several Yung Pueblo books from you. A Jay Shetty one. My favorite spin shoes. A deck of oracle cards.

You spoiled me with your generosity and kindness.

I remember growing up and being shocked that other friends and classmates didn’t really get along with their older brothers.

I can’t recall a single fight between us. All these years.

And that’s probably why, even as we got older and our interests drifted apart, we could still connect like we always did.

I close my eyes one more time and bask in your presence until tiny droplets start to form.

I open my eyes, wipe my tears, and start my morning, carrying your light with me wherever I go.