Birthdays are hard now.

I've always loved my birthday. I've never been someone who dreaded getting older. Maybe because I'm honest to goodness happy with where I am in life. Maybe because I still naively believe I could do anything if I really wanted to. But I don't really love my birthday since Jesse died.

I could always count on a phone call from my brother on my birthday. We'd usually talk a few other times throughout the year, but I really looked forward to our birthdays and know we'd chat and catch up for a good hour or so. I miss that phone call so much. How can you talk to someone for only a few hours year, but then miss few hours a year so much once they're gone? It doesn't seem like that big of a loss. But I feel it so heavily every year on my birthday.

And then again on your birthday.

But my birthday hurts worse for some reason. I think part is knowing I'm 34 now. An age you'll never know. Every year as I grow older, it's a reminder that you didn't get to. As we grew up, everything I went through, you were following just 2 years behind. Now you're gone. And it hurts so much some days.

I saw a butterfly today, land almost right on my windshield. I had a brief passing thought that you were coming to say hi. And then I had an angry thought because I hate that we all have left of you are signs we look for desperately as we hang on to every little thing as some kind of hope that you're still here.

3 years

It's been a long time since I've written here. My life is so busy that I barely have time to think. My mind is constantly just going from one thing to the next, very rarely taking the time to think about anything besides what we need to do right now.

But today was slow and sad.

Jess- today Abigail cried her heart out because she can't remember what you look like. I can't even begin to describe how much that breaks my heart.

And why didn't we ever do those stupid recreate sibling pictures? I hate seeing those now.

My kids still think you died in a car accident. I don't know when or how to tell them the truth. I want them to know, to serve as a warning and because I believe in being honest. But I don't want to tarnish their memory of you. Everything in their world is so black and white and drugs are definitely in the bad category. I don't know how they'd be able to still see you as the amazing person you were and know you used drugs. I just don't think their minds can handle it.

I think Eliza has some kind of connection with you. She talks about you all the time. She says you're her friend. She tells me stories about you. I love it, but she also has a crazy imagination that I know can get the best of her. But I like to believe it's you. I think about this random memory a lot. In October, two months before you passed away, I came out for my birthday. And you babysat her for me for a day while Mommy and I went shopping. I came home and you had her all dressed up, and were cracking up over her baby jeans. You just thought baby jeans were the cutest thing. And then you put her to bed that night and you came upstairs and said, "Mom, that's what I need. I need a family of my own." And my heart broke. Jess - you could have literally any girl. Like really any girl I've ever met would have happily filled that role for you. It breaks my heart so much that you never got that.

As I get older, and you're forever 28, certain things hurt worse. Our parents tried moving a futon into the basement the other day. You should have been there to help them! I know I need to move back, but it's so freaking expensive. Life is so good here, but the older they get the more I realize we probably will have to move to help them. And I feel different stages of grief all over again. Siblings are supposed to be there with you for this crap.

I miss you.