I love you more

Like most people, I guess, Alan and I both liked the Beatles. We had the Beatles Rock Band game, we had debates about the relative talents and attributes of each member, and talked about which songs were our favorite.

While we both like the classics like A Day in the Life and While My Guitar Gently Weeps, we each had other songs that we particularly liked. For Alan, the obvious one was Let it Be. one of his theme songs. However, it was actually a post-Beatles Lennon song that Alan probably listened to the most.

That idealistic spirit, that hope for the world to be a better place, it fit him.

For me, it was In My Life.

There was something about the piano bridge. It reminded of a piece Alan played way back when:

The words sound like they are to a lover, but for me, that person that meant more than anyone else was always Alan. When we were both young, Dad used to tell me not to parent him because he would resent it some day. He never did. As I got older, I learned how to guide him, teach him, raise him, without being seen as "one of the parents." Over the years, I have planned my vacations, my work schedule, and where I worked around him. He was a big part of why I went to school where I did, my decision to  take my fellowship offer, and my decision to buy a house. When I bought my car, I made sure he would get my old one. Now that he is gone, there is a strange sense of freedom, but not in a good way. I feel like I am floundering, rebuilding what my purpose in life is.

The truth is, though, that most of what I did in my life did not relate to him. My decision to be a physician, to research the brain, to take care of patients, none of this really had anything to do with him. I didn't do it to provide for him; he had Mom and Dad for that. I didn't do it to set a good example or make him proud, though of course I always hoped to. Reminding myself of this, that I have a life of my own, that Alan was really only one part of it, is hard. Figuring out how to focus on myself again is tough. How did I do it before? How was I able to get all my work done and take care of myself and spend time with Isabelle, and still have time to take care of him when things went wrong? I never thought I would miss the 2 a.m. calls, but that's exactly what I find myself doing now.

I think in the end, one thing that keeps me going is knowing that the world is a better place for having had Alan in it. And that we can continue to make it a better place by honoring his memory, not just by doing things that were meaningful to him, but by keeping going, doing our own things, enriched by our years with him in our lives, fondly remembering that brilliant light he shone wherever he went, shadows and all.