I’m really happy that you are back here in the States from your tour in Iraq. We’ve missed you a great deal here, as have your cats. However, it seems that you want your cats back. That’s going to be a problem.

You see, Leila and Todd are incredible mousers, and they are the best lap cats ever. I understand that they are your cats, but I’ve come to regard them as my own. In the interest of fairness, you can have one of your cats back.

In trade for the cat you don’t choose, you get Luna:

Yeah, she looks crazy in that picture. But don’t worry, she’s not like that all the time. Trust me, it’s a fair trade.

I turned 30 today.

Most 20-somethings go into their 30s kicking and screaming. Some regard it as just another day. My reaction was different.

When Nadia turned 30, she threw herself a wonderful little party. Family and friends were there with her. She went into her 30s with a smile on her face and surrounded by family.

I went in tears.

My mom called me today, singing “Happy Birthday.” I started crying, as quiet as I could. An overwhelming sadness hit me, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it was.

A steady stream of phone calls and SMSes came in, the first at 5:15am from my aunt.

During the workday, I was a complete tool to everyone I worked with. I was short, dismissive, and downright rude. I silently cursed every coworker that didn’t wish me a happy birthday, even though it is printed right on the company’s intranet page. I did the same thing to my fellow Twitterers and Facebookers who said nothing, despite the hints I dropped.

The workday finally ended. I got a few very nice and overly generous gifts from my Nadia, her family and a friend of mine. I even got a lovely poem from my best friend. But I didn’t fully appreciate any of them, because I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.

I wanted to put together a LAN party with my fellow gamers for my 30th, because drinking Mountain Dew long into the night while blasting each other in Halo sounded like an awesome way to hold on to my youth. I wanted to have a happy hour with my coworkers, present and former, because they all became my friends over the years and drinking rum and coke into the early morning sounded like a great way to celebrate surviving another year.

But I’m here. In the middle of nowhere. I can count my friends here on one hand. My home is my prison.

I kept dwelling on the lack of control in my life. The house; I’m stuck here because we can’t afford two mortgages. The job; as much as I want to leave there is no market here for what I do. Then there is Nadia’s impending deployment; I will be here, in my prison, alone for a year.

Further diving into that endless spiral of self-pity, I looked again at those ideas I had for how I would have spent my 30th if I were back east. I remember my going away LAN party; one friend showed up. ONE. The others were my neighbors buddies. Then I thought about my going away happy hour. My current coworkers were there to see me off, but what about the ones who had quit? The ones that came out for other happy hours? They were mysteriously absent. Actually, not so mysteriously, and suddenly I saw where I stood with them.

(To be fair, one in particular showed up and made me very happy).

All this negativity kept pounding away at me, and I started falling apart. I tried to keep my shit together by working on one of the many computer problems my network is experiencing. Maybe I could solve one and make me feel a lot better! This was not to be; the only thing I’m good at, the only thing I know, computers, and I failed at it.

My dad called. He asked me, “do you have a birthday cake?”

I mustered every ounce of strength I could to sound normal, but my voice did crack. I told him no. I heard it in his voice, his disappointment. He was upset that he couldn’t be her for me, that I was so far away. His voice cracked too. We ended our conversation quickly.

There I was again, crying. No, sobbing. I sat down on my new (broken) recliner, and Nadia sat with me. I couldn’t believe it, a cake. The absence of a cake completely broke me down.

Reflecting on today, and the month that lead up to today, I’m learning that every time I say “I’m hanging in there” or “I have learned to cope,” I am lying. I’m in a very fragile emotional state, and I find myself lashing out at people who don’t deserve it or sneaking off to another room to cry.

I don’t know what to do. It’s been a month now, and I’m not getting better.

This is the last of three posts in which I try to deal with my brother’s death. They are Danny, Acceptance and Goodbye.

Perhaps to make up for the previous day’s lateness, we all got to the church 45 minutes early. Family and friends were ushered into the main room while the pallbearers were pulled aside for instructions. My father, brother, uncle, two cousins and I had a tough time listening to the proper way to wheel the coffin out at the end of the ceremony.

Pastor Wayne, from my mom’s church, officiated the ceremony. I was getting nervous; days before Ma asked me to give the eulogy. I really didn’t want to do that, and I tried to get out of it by reminding her of the “best man rotation” we had going. Danny was mine, I was Carlos’, so it seemed to make sense that since Carlos has been robbed of the opportunity of being Danny’s best man, he should give the eulogy. She agreed, but then added, “but you are his brother, so you are going to speak too!”

I knew what was going to happen, which is why I didn’t want to get up there and speak. After Carlos gave his touching eulogy, made up of stories from our childhood and with a touch of anger at Danny’s passing, I was called up. I don’t think I even got three sentences out. I only recall squeezing out “I wish as I was as strong as Carlos,” “I’m sorry” and “I can’t do this” between moments of tear-filled silence.

The slideshow from the night before played (I still couldn’t watch it), and then Pastor Wayne finished the ceremony. I couldn’t bring myself to say the prayer along with him, as it sounded to me like, “We’ve got Danny’s soul. You wanna see him again? Join our church.”

The six of us wheeled him out into the area in front of the church. The Patriot Guard stood outside, as they had the night before.

Given the nature of Danny’s death, I was worried that the Army would abandon him. I can’t tell you how happy I am that they did no such thing.

We all watched the Honor Guard line up and ready their rifles. My mom and I jumped as the 21-Gun Salute went off (I’ve seen it done in movies, but was not prepared for how loud it was). My brother, although in a civilian suit, proudly saluted the coffin the entire time. I saw a perfect stranger cry for us. I even saw a wheelchair-bound member of the Patriot Guard prop himself up with the flag to stand at attention.

The scene was moving, but I kept it all together; that is, until SGT Simmons of the Honor Guard played Taps. I couldn’t stop myself from weeping.

Members of the Honor Guard slowly and precisely folded the flag that draped Danny’s coffin. When done, they handed it to Nadia. In her Class As, she handed it to Nilsa on behalf of the Army. She repeated this for both of my parents (who were very happy that she was the one to present to them).

It was very hot and humid as this was going on, as it typically is in Florida. As soon as the ceremony ended, the clouds above tore open and a heavy downpour started.

This has been a trying time for my family. It is going to take a long time before we fully come to terms with this, but the healing process has already begun. Danny’s death brought the extended Diaz family together for the first time in over a decade.

Thank you for letting me take a break from the normal trivialities I talk about here so that I can get this out, and thank you for reading and for your kind words. This blog’s normal foolishness will resume, starting with the next post.

I love you Danny, you will be missed.