Dear Ryan

01.05.1995–14.02.20 ❤️

You probably never knew I liked writing letters; it wasn’t something we ever shared. I haven’t written a letter in a long time, so this might be really rubbish, but I thought I would give it a go anyway.

So it has been over a year since you left us — including two birthdays — and what a hole you left. After we said goodbye, the whole world was plunged into chaos, and all of us had to grieve in private, many of us, without the support of our closest family and friends within range. We’ve been in on and off lockdown ever since March — something I know you would have hated.

Despite everything that’s been going on — I’ve thought about you every day. You are often the last thing I think about before I fall asleep — but not in a creepy way, don’t worry. I think about you so much that often you appear in my dreams.

Sometimes they are happy dreams, and they make up for the lost memories we never shared. Like you joining my family for a Christmas, or us going to see Manchester United — something we never did together. They are happy whilst I’m experiencing them, but often I wake up in shock and confusion, and remember with a starkness I’ve not ever known before, that you’re gone, for good. And that those memories or moments will never happen.

It breaks me in two if I let it, and sometimes I have no choice. There are so many things I wish I could have said to you. I wish I could have told you how lucky I was to have you in my life and always to know that you were right there if I ever needed you. I wish I had reached out during the most challenging parts of my life and not kept them from you. I wish I had the bravery to tell you that I was always completely in awe of you — at every stage of your life.

I wish I could have told you how much I loved you and how much I loved having a person in the world who looked like me.

One of your best friends told me that I have your eyes and smile. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I can see you staring right back at me. That’s probably a strange thought and something you never considered, but in a way, it’s comforting. Part of me wants to let my blonde hair grow out so that my natural hair grows back because our hair colour was always the same hue of brown.

It’s the little things like that.

You had such a presence, which infected everyone’s lives in the best possible way, so it’s hard to come to terms with the fact you’re truly gone. We may never have had the relationship that normal brothers and sisters do, but our lives were never normal, were they? We were put on our separate paths, but I know, if we were given the time, they would have crossed again. I only wished they had.

Over the months, I’ve often blamed myself for not being more present in your life, for forgetting to reach out, and be there when you needed someone. At times, the guilt has become all-consuming. But as it comes to a year and two birthdays since you’ve been gone, I’ve tried to let it settle. It’s always going to be there, as you were my brother and part of me. When you passed, even though we weren’t that close, I felt like part of myself had gone too.

If I ever got married, I always imagined that you would be the one to walk me down the aisle and give me away. I knew you wanted children and to start a family — you would have been the best dad in the world.

Despite how hard this has all been, you still manage to give me hope. Hope that I can carry on and overcome it all because you did at every point in your life. You overcame barriers unfairly placed on you and did the best with what you had and more. I know that spirit lives inside me, too; we both share that same self-determination even when things get hard.

This is getting long now, and I don’t want it to get too rambly, so I’ll finish here. Please know that you are not forgotten — you never will be. You live on in everyone’s lives who you touched. I miss you now, and I’ll miss you forever.

Your sister,

Violet