This is my brother David. Today is his thirty-third birthday. Except he’s not.
David will be 29 forever. Sometimes I imagine what he’d doing now, if God had taken me up on any of the deals I frantically tried to make with him while we waited for the search team to reach the crash site.
I wonder about where would he be working. What he’d look like now.
If he was here I imagine he’d be giving me stick about my missing front tooth.
He’d have delivered a kick-arse speech at Ant’s wedding last year, in spite of how much he hated public speaking.
His love of the Big Sister would have seen him loudly declare that she was robbed, when the class awards were announced at the end of year concert.
He’d be patient in his negotiations with the Little Sister about shoes or cleaning her teeth or what colour the sky really is.
He’d be laughing and bouncing on the trampoline with my girls even though he had things to do. His laugh would be the same ridiculous high-pitch that doesn’t really fit a man.
He’d be phoning late from the back of cab to sing “Lover, Lover” by Sonia Dada at full pelt.
He’d be talking about the footage of the TransAsia flight with Dad and chastising Mum for riding her bike too fast.
He would hate that I’m crying while I write this. He’d say, come on babe. It’ll be right.
Except it’s not.
Happy Birthday beautiful boy. I miss you. I love you and more than anything I hope you are happy where ever you are. I promise to dry these tears, be productive today and raise a glass on the hill to you with Bearhands tonight.