On Sunday I drove to Santa Cruz with a packet of sunflower seeds in my pocket. The real purpose of the trip was morose, I wanted to pick up a copy of my brother’s obituary and I felt compelled to be ceremonial about it somehow. I’m sure I could have found a copy closer, but not in a place more meaningful to the mission.
I brought my toddler with me. The sun was shining and the Disney songs were bumping. Certain parts of the drive to Santa Cruz are so familiar to me they feel like going home. We went straight to Bookshop Santa Cruz.
The newsstand is right at the front of the store. I beelined it and grabbed the Santa Cruz Sentinel and the San Jose Mercury. I flipped to the obituaries with shaking hands and opened them just enough to see a picture of my brother’s face before closing them back up. Weird. So fucking weird.
I exhaled a heavy sign and quickly stashed the papers in the stroller I was pushing before grabbing a few more things — a dinosaur book? Great, love it! A banana slug iron-on patch? Suurre!
Having the papers in hand (and also no clue why I even really wanted them) I decided to enjoy the day with my baby in one of my favorite places and in some small way honor my little brother.
We walked over to El Palomar. I haven’t been to this restaurant in many many years but it’s exactly the same. The atmosphere, the salsa, the same order I got back then, all delightfully the way I remembered. I love this place.
Next stop was the house my parents built. It’s a beautiful home on a hill surrounded by a eucalyptus and live oak forest. When my parents lived there I used to imagine my children running down the halls someday. On this day, I walked up the hill towards someone else’s house, with my child’s tiny hand in mine. I looked around at the land as we walked and I could see moments in time so clearly. A field near the road that we imagined could be a small baseball field someday. A scene from one of our movie projects that happened among the trees we walked past. The music and laughter and dancing at our older brother’s wedding. It was the backdrop to so many wonderful memories for me, but it was also where Stephen got sick.
However heavy it may sound, seeing the house again — particularly sharing it in some small way with my child — was really special. It holds the world of a new family now and it seems like they love it as much as we did. That makes me really happy. I planted some sunflowers seeds along the road before we headed off to the beach, I hope they don’t mind.
Rio del Mar is one of my favorite beaches. My brother spent a lot of time there, on his own and with the family. We played in the surf and laid in the sand before planting the rest of the sunflower seeds by the Rio round-about and heading out of town as the sun set.
As I made my way back down 17 at a humbling 4 miles per hour (yay traffic), I had a day dream that someone who lives in the house now sees the sunflowers growing and thinks they’re beautiful. They cut them and the bouquet ends up in the window of what used to be my brother’s room.
After getting home and transferring my very sleepy child to bed, I actually looked at the newspapers I picked up for the first time. I read the obituary. My dad wrote a beautiful and fitting tribute. My brother’s obituary was next to one for Mr. Belding from Saved by the Bell. In a weird way, I think Stephen would have gotten a kick out of that. My brother was a complicated and special person. I have a lot more to say about him, but that will be for another day.
I carefully folded the paper back together and, after a day spent planting sunflower seeds for my brother, I noticed for the first time that there on the cover of the Sentinel was a big picture of a sunflower.
Rest in peace, brother. You’ll be in my heart forever.
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