Jason Ryan

So last night was a weird rough night. Nothing exceptional happened, no grand crisis or earth-shattering reveals. I just got some place in my head that I thought I had left a long time ago.

The last few days I have been really tired and the job has been running me ragged; to the point that phone calls seem difficult and company is not really wanted. I spend each night taking a nap and having dinner and reading books. Last night wasn’t much different; I was curled in a ball and plowing through “The Year of Ice”. I liked it and I got it.

The weird thing is after a finished the book I realized how much about my life the story turned out to be; from the leader character on down it seemed verbatim my childhood and so much so that it stirred an odd memory.

For some reason this book made me think long and hard about my dead brother Jason Ryan. He died as an infant and I was barely out of middle school when it all went down. It was from that one event that my parents’ divorce happened and my life took a turn that I never expected.

Not to rehash old turf but I started for the first time to really think about Jay Ryan—as he was called—we never really talked about him much afterwards. I have little slips of memory that filter in and out at times; like the memorial service and the little blue sail boat that we buried with him and the awkward silences with the babysitter who was with him when he died.

But for the first time ever, I wished I was at his grave, wished I could talk to him, tell him how happy we all became down the line. What he missed with all us, how I think of him, how my mother still cries every January on his birthday, how none of us knew that till years later and about how we don’t blame him for all the things that came after. That I still love him and wish he was here.

And as I found myself wander the streets that night—a big gulp in one hand and a cigarette in another—I wondered whether we have all become who were supposed to be. That maybe his death served some grander purpose—that it became the means for all of us to set off and find our own happiness. Just maybe.

Of course—you never know these things. And with realizing that I headed home for the night, making myself push through all the dramatic thoughts and wishes. I made myself go off and enjoy myself. I hung out with the girls at Ali’s and had drinks and baby talk and sex talk. I laughed and smiled and joked with them; because if there is anything you can do for the dead is that—living your life fully.

And as I went to sleep that night I felt better—relieved. I slept through the night and woke up happy and smiling. I don’t remember dreams but I feel like something must have happened there. But the weirdest thing happened at work—a new producer joined the show and was someone I knew through Edie. A writer friend of hers from back home. The weirdest part—his name.

J Ryan.