8 years ago, my brother passed away. If you have followed me on social media for awhile (which, if you have, I deeply apologize), then you may have seen my annual commemorative posts. Maybe you’re like “oh, great. here she goes writing something touching yet playful about that dead brother again. It’s been 8 years! move on! get a new brother!” And to that I say: good point. But I really liked this last one so, you know, when I talk and write about him, it keeps him alive in my mind, my heart, my soul BECAUSE I’M FUCKING SOFT AND THAT’S OKAY. So, I’m writing this and you’re reading it so, let’s everybody get off our high horses because what else do you have to do? It’s 2018, it’s Friday, you’re drunk, just stick it out and read the dumb, sappy shit and I’ll try to plug in a few laughlines so you don’t fall asleep on your keyboard. You’re not wearing pants and neither am I. Let’s just be together in this moment.
My brother’s name was Gabe. His middle name was actually Harry, after one of our uncles. But he would tell people it was Harrison because he was embarrassed to have an bald, butler-esque middle name and also, obviously: Harrison Ford, who was the coolest man alive in his mind. Indiana Jones, Star Wars, that phase where he had an earring: those were the movies. (To be clear: the Back To The Futures we’re also extremely important, erviously, but not HF affiliated).
Gabe was 6’1″, short brown hair, 180lbs, big nose, and everybody liked him, which was super annoying. The likability factor there was basically unstoppable and I, therefore, resented him for it because he was the “good” kid.
I love/d the fuck out of my brother. It wasn’t hard.
He played basketball in high school and about 1 million games of H-O-R-S-E with me in our driveway and catch in the backyard. He drove a small, tan pick up truck named “Lucy” that I loved. He lived on a hill in one of his many college tenures and he woke up ‘early’ in the morning (my guess is 10am?) in the winter to drive to class and the truck slid on the ice and he did a full 360 down the one lane hill road with parked cars on both sides without touching a single car.
He took a swing dance class in college and taught me how so he could practice and I loved it. I loved every second of it. My brother just oozed fun. You could do the dumbest shit but, if it was with him, it felt like the best day.
We used to drive places and go camping and he’d chew tobacco (which is arguably disgusting) and I’d stick a piece of red rope licorice under my lip to copy him like “look, Gabe. I’ll have gum disease someday too!”
He was 12 years older than me (same mom, different dads) and I very little-sister-idolized him.
He loved country music (because we all have problems). One time, he called into a radio station to win tickets to a concert while sitting in his truck, won and got so pumped he double punched his hands in the air with so much thrill that he cracked his windshield in 2 places.
We’d watch Matt Damon and Nick Cage movies together And, yes, I *do* have a Nick Cage movie quote from “The Rock” tattooed on the side of my head in the spot where the brain tumor was in his head. You know, the ol brain cancer tramp stamp.
He liked to stay up late and sleep in.
He’d wake up in the middle of the night and eat bowls of cereal. AND NEVER GAIN ANY FUCKING WEIGHT.
He went to college for a total estimated time of about (give or take) 756,239 years. He started as a film major and then switched to forestry and ended up at Microsoft college: a natural progression.
He worked at Dick’s Drive Inn in high school flipping burgers and come home to watch movies in between double-shifts with 3 year old me. He worked on a sheep farm for 3 months in Perth, Australia where he literally ate lamb every single night for dinner. And, then, obviously, never ate lamb again. He worked as a forest ranger and then at Microsoft and then at some kind of educational company that I cannot even begin to explain. Like you could tell me this company sold computer chips that they surgically inserted into children’s heads to teach them multiplication tables and I’d be like “oh, *that’s* what that company did! Nice.”
Man, he was a true pleasure. I love him so much and I’m so glad to have known him. And you read this and now you know something about him too and I thank you for that.
Also, one time, I found a topless picture of Tiffani Amber Thiessen on his laptop and that’s when I learned that me and my brother were into the same type of chicks.
I guess there aren’t really any big takeaways here. Don’t get brain cancer? Appreciate the people you love? Don’t beat box as an adult in front of your sister because she’s just getting you to do it so she can tell your whole family about it? One of those.
That is all.
Childless MILF 