I turned twenty-six this year. I’m reminded by just about everyone I know - my friends who are older than me, my coworkers who find my work ethic fascinating, and the world around me - that I’m still young. Still a lot of life to live and still a lot of life I haven’t lived yet.

There have been two big ages in my life that kind of knocked me back on my heels: first, when I turned twenty. Andrew, who would have been thirty-two today, was twenty when he died. I was fifteen at the time and remember thinking he looked older than twenty. Twenty was basically an adult, right? Twenty came and I realized I would outlive my brother’s age and I also realized I was definitely not “basically an adult”. The second age is this one right now: twenty-six. You see, my Mom, the woman who’s survived many, many tragedies along side my Dad, who’s had his own many, many tragedies, was twenty-six when Andrew was born. She was reminded, probably like I am now, that she was so young.

I think about what I would be like as a mother now, at twenty-six, but, more importantly, I think about what kind of person I am at twenty-six. I’m still selfish and self-centered and really impatient when I find things that I don’t want to do, or are not done the way I want, or aren’t part of the plan I’ve set up for myself. I’m also empathetic and funny and a really hard worker and sometimes I think I’m doing okay when I think about that.

But tragedies, like my Mom wrote about here don’t care how old you are. They don’t care if you’re any of the good things you think about yourself, or even any of the bad things. They’re random and undeserved and completely and totally out of anyone’s control. I was fifteen when I went through my first real tragedy: Andrew died when he was twenty. And I forgot for awhile there, that I would turn the age he was, I’d turn the age my parent’s were when they went through their first tragedy, and I’ll keep turning ages until I’ve turned all the ages I’m supposed to.

Andy didn’t get that many birthdays. He got twenty and then they stopped. He wasn’t supposed to get that many at all, but thank god he did. We’d go visit him and bring him presents and open them with him and I really, really hope he liked that. Everyone wants to feel special on their birthday. And I know on that first birthday, which was really hard for everyone, I know he got to see all of the good things about my parents - their humor and resilience and pure selflessness that I know kept that little baby alive long enough for me to meet him and get to spend fifteen years with him.

Andrew: happy birthday. I remember all your good things, too: your gentle nature, your beauty, and the way you inspired every person around you. You had none of the bad things. I hope you’re somewhere you’re getting to turn more ages and meet people and give them what you gave me: a brother and a friend and a child to my parents who were “so young” when they had you.

Love you.