My brother would have been 44 yesterday.

It’s the fourth June 13th, ‘Brent would have been _ today,’ that has passed without him.

Since we lost him at 39, I’ve often written about how he’ll remain forever 39 in my mind and how strange it is to carry on aging without him passing through the number first.

40. 41. 42. Soon 43.

These are all numbers I’ve experienced without him, and I don’t really know what to make of that. It just is.

I felt him close by this year, same as I always do.

A nudge to watch a movie called The Healer on Friday night, which was filled with signs and synchronicities along with one of my unmistakable ‘Brent Songs:’ Israel ‘IZ’ Kamakawiwoʻole’s version of Somewhere Over The Rainbow.

All the 13’s that kept popping up in various places this past week. A lucky number I adopted, because it was his birthday.

A strong urge to order Mexican food last night in celebration of him, where I spontaneously included Carne Asada Fries among my typically vegetarian fare, because I had the overwhelming urge to have steak on his behalf and eat something he would have loved.

I don’t think any of these things are coincidental or even that extraordinary— our loved ones who’ve passed before us are often close by supporting us, guiding us, and saying hello if we just pay attention.

This weekend I’ve been paying attention, and each small thing made me smile.

Other than that I find myself a mix of feels I can’t quite put name to.

Often in years past I feel moved to write a longer reflection on grief around his birthday that does a deep dive into the complex emotional terrain of grief and who I’ve become in loss.

Not this year though. I don’t know that I have anything new to reflect or say, nor any deep insights or new epiphanies.

Instead I find myself writing these words, because I didn’t want to let the weekend pass without acknowledging his birthday, even if it’s with a simple blog.

Perhaps, as inarticulate and unglamorous and uninisghtful as this blog feels to me maybe this simple post is my truth this year: a very ordinary moment of living with grief.

Grief that leaves me feeling nebulous feels, looking for the signs he’s close by, thinking about his life up high, even as I contemplate my life down here.

Wondering how I might be different if he were here to see 44.