Red-balloon Day

Twice a year, my family and I go to the cemetery to "see" my brother: on the anniversary of his death, and on his birthday. Today would have been his 41st birthday. We established this ritual early on, mostly for my nephew who was only 3 1/2 when his father died. But also because we couldn't see how we could not be together on those 2 days.

For me, my brother is not there, in these lawns with this granite slab. I "feel" him more in his house, or looking at his son. But to my nephew, the cemetery is a very significant place. From the very first times, he would walk ahead of all of us (early on, I would walk with him). Now, he just darts as soon as we get out of the car, and walks towards his dad. For him, this place means something, and he is home there, simply. He told us that it would be his father's birthday. We replied that it already was, since my brother was born at noon and it was 5pm. He said no. That it would be his birthday when we would visit him.

Love is that simple. And that complicated. All wrapped up with a red balloon that we watch fly away. When we lose it, we go home, and share a meal.