The following is what I read at my little brother's memorial service nearly 3 years ago...
There are some moments in our lives, that even as they are happening we are aware that from that moment on everything is changed, and a new, completely different life is beginning. The birth of my little brother, which I at the age of 10, was in the room to witness, was one of those moments for me. From that point on, I was a big sister. And how special did that make me feel? I was so proud to be a big sister, that I carried his picture around to show people every day for years. From the second Aaron came into this world, something shifted. It is when I first realized- really understood- what love is.
As the years went on and I became wrapped up in my teenage years, my little brother, in my young, too-cool eyes, became my little bother. Always coming into my room without knocking, wanting to play little kid games, taking up all of my precious time. I had phone calls to make. I had cute boys to write about in my diary. I just didn't have the time. Of course, at that age we rarely think of the future any farther than what we had planned for the weekend. So how was I to know that all these years later I would still regret those missed opportunities, and that I would have so little time to make it up to him.
But as it is said, life really does come full circle and what comes around goes around, because in my little brother's teenage years he became too cool for me. Here was this kid, who was now taller than me, whose voice suddenly sounded like my dad's when I called the house, who had even started growing facial hair. Facial hair! And still, all I could see was that baby. My little brother. For someone like him, a boy trying hard to become a man, being called "Little Beavy" and "Baby Bird" by your older, not nearly as cool sister, had to be horrifying. But he took it like a champ, and part of me still thinks he secretly liked it.
As more years went on and I continued to marvel at the fact that my little brother was anything but little, that certain feeling that can only be described as unconditional love was always there. When his attitude left something to be desired (sometimes a LOT to be desired), that feeling was there. When he was rolling his eyes as I told him something that was "for his own good" because I was "older and had been there," the feeling never wavered. When I would get that call or that text that said "Veeeeenus," or "Hey sisterrrrr!" and I knew that meant he was about to ask for some kind of favor- AGAIN- the love was always there, my aggravation taking a back seat. I have loved many people in my life, but there are some people, some kinds of love that are just different. Some people just carve that little place in your heart that nothing or no one can touch. My little brother was that person, that feeling, that love for me.
In the weeks before my little brother was taken from us, he had come to LA to live with me and my family, and although it can be a bit nerve-wracking to throw a newly 21-year-old into the mix of your rather domesticated life, Aaron fit right in. Having him with me was something that made me happier than anyone knew (including him)/ Seeing him every day, and seeing him do well made me so ridiculously proud of him. And he was doing good. real good. I had the honor, in those last few weeks of witnessing my little brother, the baby, on his way to becoming a man. A really good man.
My most recent life-altering moment was in the seconds I heard the words "Aaron's dead." Just like that, everything was different, and nothing would ever be the same. His journey to becoming that great man had been cut short in one instant, And since his life was cut short, so were my opportunities to have more stories to tell about him, to make more memories with him, and to tell him what he really meant to me. There are all of these things, these ways I felt about him, that I should have shared with him when I thought we had forever. Things that never occurred to me I would need to say when we would joke about how when I'm 60 and he's 50 I would still call him a kid who didn't know anything, and he would still call me an old lady who didn't know anything. Sharing those things with him is no longer an option, so sharing them with the people he loved, and who loved him, will have to be good enough.
My brother was funny. His smile was a goofy, wonderful, contagious thing. My little brother was loyal and loving, and full of fun and laughter. My little brother was who I could be the real 100% me with, and who knew he could do the same. My little brother was smart, and witty, and confident. My little brother was so many things to so many. So many things to me. So much more than he ever knew.
I want to end this by asking everyone to look around. Look around at all of the people who are affected by just 1 life. Wether we realize it or not, our existence has such an effect on so many people. Nothing has been a bigger lesson to me on how much we are really not promised tomorrow, than Aaron's death. We may not be able to do anything about my little brother's life being gone, but we can do something about our own lives. It is true that life is short and we must live it fully, but it is also true that our lives are a gift, and not something to be taken lightly. What you are feeling now over the loss of my brother is what others would feel if you were gone. Cherish your gift. I know that is what I intend on doing in memory of Aaron Michael Beaver, my little brother, my baby. I intend on being aware, every second of how fortunate I am to be here, and to truly live.
I am not sure if Aaron knew the impact he had on us all, but I'm pretty sure he knows it now, I love you brother. You may have gone away in a moment, but that feeling never will.
