2015

I wrote a blog post titled "Happy New Year!" But I never posted it; I planned on editing it before posting it. I wrote it before I learned that Jason killed himself on New Year's Eve. I couldn't bring myself to post it. I was crushed. I am crushed. I deleted that post. Because this year has started out emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausting.

One of my earliest memories is Linda and me going to Jason and Greg's room when we couldn't sleep or had a nightmare; it became a habit of ours. I remember the best part of visitation swaps were the brief minutes when we actually got to see our brothers. I remember him acting the lead in Oliver Twist. I remember a big pile of leaves that didn't stay a pile for long. I remember calling Jason for rides in high school. I remember the time he waited what seemed like forever for Linda and me because Ms. Hall was crazy. I remember waving to him in passing at school. I remember the long drive to Yellowstone. I visited him at Berkeley. I remember walking around Pier 39. And going to the Jelly Belly factory because Linda really wanted to go. I wrote a paper about him in high school, about how much he meant to me. We spent a summer rubbing our toes raw from swimming too much, pushing our feet against the pool walls. I remember going to the Getty. I remember when he took that picture at the Denver airport; the picture that he later painted. The picture that is one of the few things I get to keep of him. I still have the dominoes set he bought me almost fifteen years ago. I remember him and Greg making fun of me for things I wrote in my elementary school diary. I avoided riding in Jason's raft because his goal was to flip over again. I remember taking him to Stanford, and being disappointed that the art museum was closed, so we just walked around instead. We walked around the Google Campus. I remember Disneyland and Magic Mountain. He crashed in my apt at BYU for a few nights, when Andrew and I had just started dating. I made fun of him for liking anime. He played with Leah, but she'll never remember him because she was too young. I remember the pictures he drew to hide the holes in the walls. I remember trying to duplicate a particular picture he drew of a giraffe, its neck twisted like a pretzel, and not liking my attempt. And I remember the last time I saw him. We went to the LA County Museum of Art. We went to the California Science Center. We ate chips and salsa. We went to that little Thai restaurant that he discovered when he lived with Cheryl. And we said goodbye for the last time.

I am thankful for his friends, who stopped his previous suicide attempt. If not for them, I wouldn't have some of those memories of Jason. And I'm thankful for my extended family. Particularly David, Lisa, Cheryl, Dorothy, Ruth, Judy, and Jim. I'm utterly heartbroken that Jason felt the need to take his own life, for the pain and anguish that led to that choice. More heartbroken than I am for my own loss. I know that Jason believed he would cease to exist when he died. I believe his spirit lives on. And so I will miss him until we meet again.