My brother Tyko would have turned 59 today. He took his own life 23 years ago, leaving a silence I will carry in my heart for the rest of my days.

Tyko possessed a restless, wandering heart. Like me, he found immense freedom in traveling and meeting new people along the way.

I took this photo of Tyko in 1984, on a trip we took together to Corfu, Greece. He was 17 and I was 21 when we boarded a charter flight out of Landvetter, leaving Sweden behind for a week.

The granular details of those days have faded, but the brightness remains: we had a blast.

We rented 125cc motorcycles and tore around the island like two daredevils with nothing to lose.

Tyko had never handled a motorized bike before, but he found his rhythm almost instantly – guided, perhaps, by the BMX riding he mastered as a kid.

I choose to retain my memories from moments like these rather than the shadowy, difficult times of our childhood.

Losing someone so deeply woven into your life isn’t a single sharp break. It is an enduring, quiet tear that never ends. It just continues to rip, stretch, and pull at my heart.

Though my mind tells me that atheism is the only logical path, a quieter, less rational part of me hopes I am wrong.

That when my own life is over, that dirt road on the hill overlooking the gorgeous coastal village of Agios Gordios on Corfu opens up again, and I find Tyko waiting there for me with his warm smile. We’ll see.

Happy Birthday, Tyko.

You are infinitely missed.