It’s been a while since he quietly slipped away, alone and without hope in a dreary hotel room in Paris. And honestly, these days, I don’t think of Tyko that much. It feels good that I can admit that without feeling guilt. But even though he’s not nearly as present as during those first years after his death, the memory of him isn’t buried so deep or has become too compartmentalized that I can’t still easily recollect how devastated I felt when I received the call from the gendarme in Paris.

Since his and my birthdays are just one day apart, I’ll of course always be reminded of Tyko’s tragic passing. And though today marks one of the year’s sadder days (the other being the date of his death), I still try to spend some of it reminiscing about our old times and remembering the sound of his contagious laugh, boundless, often off-the-charts sick sense of humor and perhaps above all, my brother’s unique ability to be brutally honest about how he felt. Which I intend to do more of going forward…

Rest in peace, Toddles.