June 9th, 2019

Ten years. In most instances ten years is a milestone, something to be celebrated. But June 9th is no such occasion. I've been thinking all day about what words I could possibly say about today. I still don't have the right words, and probably never will, but I have to try.

Ten years feels long and short, all at the same time. So much change in a decade. So much miss and sadness. And so much new. A lot of good has happened too. It feels like a lifetime ago since we saw you and many have never even met you. How can ten years have so much good in it, and be riddled with so much grief all at the same time?

June 9th has it's own sound and feeling. It sounds of cries, sorrow, anger and cursing. Silence and gasps for air. Screaming, regret, disbelief. Utter shock, like a punch in the stomach. A full apartment, but empty in the worst possible way. No words can truly describe how it feels to clean out an apartment for someone who doesn't need his things anymore. Every piece of trash is sacred. Every dirty dish. A laundry basket full of clean clothes and a well loved, sweat stained cycling hat. A stick of deoderant, and a plug in air freshener.

Ten long, short years. We miss you.

My brother, Matthew, with my oldest baby. I wish he could see him now.