Lilith Fair, and a Visit from Brother Steve

Missing my Brother

It’s been a hard month around here for a couple of reasons, but a large part of it has been missing my Brother Steve. I always called him that when I wrote about him and the name has stuck. He died at the beginning of December eight years ago. The month brings an overhanging melancholy, a longing for my brother that sits right behind my sternum. I guess it’s in my heart. It sits there, an aching, along with this sense that wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I could burst into tears in a heartbeat.

Not very joyful, for December.

So last night we had friends over to watch Lilith Fair: Building a Mystery.

This is a beautiful piece of documentary filmmaking. It is celebratory and elegiac and it fills you heart and then it breaks it. I’d gone twice, my husband once, but the couple we had over had never gone. I felt an overwhelming need to share this movie with them. It takes juggling to get four busy people to sit down together in front of a TV, but we managed it. 10/10, please find a way to watch it. If you were lucky enough to go, it will take you back, and if you were not, well, you’ll have a fuller understanding of just what an incredible experience it was.

My Lilith Fairs

The first time I went, Brother Steve and I took my daughters. So perhaps that’s why I woke up from a longer dream that started out with driving down Davis Street in Portland’s Old Town and realizing that a train had derailed and broken up and there was a train car headed down the street toward us (I was with a friend in my old minivan). Miraculously, I got us out of the way, but it was a huge emergency, “Here comes the caboose!” I called, as I steered us into a parking lot to safety. More cars kept sailing past and helicopters soared overhead, carrying away important pieces of the train, I guess.

We’d been on our way to see this friend’s son, so after various stupid dream-type setbacks we finally arrived at his apartment building. There was the usual dream nonsense, but eventually we were standing in a hallway waiting for this son to arrive, and an annoying man was explaining something to us. I think it was about music.

And who walked up but my Brother Steve, my own personal musical expert, smiling and happy and we hugged so hard. Then he continued on the conversation with this man in the way that only Steve could, with sharp wit and engagement and a mind that moved fluidly from topic to topic, making connections and demonstrating expertise without ever making you feel talked down to. And his wonderful seal bark of a laugh rang out, and his smile lit up his whole face, especially his blue eyes. It was a wonderful, wonderful dream. I woke up smiling.

And of course now I’m crying, but these are joyful tears.

It was like A Christmas Carol visit from Brother Steve to remind me of joy. Steve took so much joy in life, even as his health failed. I’m lucky enough to be healthy. I need to make sure I do the same. You have to understand that my brother always showed up when I needed him. He came down from Seattle all the time: when my marriage ended, he showed me how to get through the day-to-day, and he helped during the year one of my daughters was bed-bound with a surgical procedure and I had to go back to work. He helped financially when I went back to school. He was the world’s finest uncle to my daughters, here for every holiday and so overjoyed to celebrate. He was always sharing concerts with me in Portland and Seattle, more than I can count. And last night it felt like he could tell I’ve been struggling and he showed up again. Because that’s the kind of man he was.

It has been so hard to lose him but I was so fortunate to have him.

If you’d like to read about that trip to Lilith Fair with Brother Steve, here it is.

Always missing you, Brother Steve.