Today is Pete VonGrossmann's birthday, the anniversary of March 10, 1960. Happy birthday, Pete. I miss you. I miss the extended phone calls, hearing your voice, talking about music, or cooking, or dogs, or hockey, or the news, with your sincere, gentle advocacies and outrages. It's hardest letting go of your smile and your utterly unique mannerisms, like the way you loosely tied shoes, or shuffled a bit when you walked, or slipped in a dry quip. I feel you with me as I continue down the road. Daily.

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It's been about a year since I've embarked on the project to commemorate Pete's life in a book. He is the motivation behind my tackling writing as a new practice, a choice laden with irony because Pete was an aspiring writer. He is a motivation behind this blog, meant to help me process what I learn and keep me writing and moving forward. More than that, Pete is the motivation to look back and understand his origins, and his life provided a role model that helped me to finally jump off the wild ride of the rat race.

And, of course, I cannot think about his origins without contemplating my own; I naturally become a base case for comparison, as his only sibling. It's forced me to look at things I've run from all my life - including him. Initially I ran from my family to survive, but that is no longer necessary; it is time to turn around and face things. In theory, Pete and I had the same upbringing. I am learning that there were significant differences. Our parents were at different stages in their story while raising Pete, four years older than me, than while raising me. I've also learned that the timing of events in a child’s life, and its correlation to intellectual or social developmental thresholds, is very significant. I am turning to face it all, and to love Pete by giving him the attention I withheld before.

I ponder how it all happened, his life...what was he thinking about at this point, or that one? When this happened, or that? What did he take away each experience? How did this lead to that? The truth is those answers are unknowable. And still I analyze. And document.

I am in the earliest stages of assembling a narrative. It can only be my narrative, not his, in the end; still, I hope some truth comes to light as a result. Over the last year, I've jumped into research on societal trends to provide a context for Pete's path. I've interviewed so many friends and family about their histories and impressions of him, and I'm now processing transcripts to begin to write about their and my reflections. I've learned many things about his life that I didn't know, and never would have guessed. I've also had my understanding of him reinforced, over and over. I began this journey as a way to defend his memory, or perhaps my memory of him, not only for the people who knew Pete, but for people who knew people like him - friends, family members, colleagues, whomever. My heart knows that everyone will recognize someone in this story. My goal is that it will offer something to soothe souls.

In 22 days, I will turn the age Pete was when he died. Like a punch to the gut, that fact brings home the knowledge that I am in no way ready to leave this life. I am tempted to project that onto him. He may have felt the same way, but I have reason to doubt it. An acquaintance I knew once, who lost a loved one too soon, said that their soul "took an offramp", for whatever unknowable reason. I think of Pete that way too, as a means of some small comfort. But, it's hard to let go of the questions, and apparently I'm not ready to yet.

It's been a heck of a journey, with miles to go before I sleep. It is a meaningful journey. I'm not sure where it is leading, but I'm open to any result, because it offers its own kind of transcendence:

"The longing and pains that we suffer actually bring us closer to the divine and to that which is most beautiful." - Susan Cain