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It was nearly a year after my brother's death when I paid my first visit - other than the funeral - to the cold, isolated graveyard. I had finally come to terms with everything. It's ironic, how unexpected the twists of fate are. The gray slab of stone that's sticking out of the ground holds his name and it's a harsh reminder.

Never, in my entire life, would I have pictured myself standing at my brother's tombstone just one week shy of our birthdays.

I had always loved having a birthday so close to my brother's. I don't know if he enjoyed it as much as I did, but having a joint birthday party with my older brother was like a dream come true. Clay and I would always get our picture taken together, blowing the candles out on our joint birthday cake.

Now that I think back, I can't believe Clay didn't mind sharing his birthday parties with me. Growing up with Sean as a little brother, I never would have wanted to share anything with him. But I guess that just shows what a thoughtful, loving and caring person Clay was.

***

After the accident, everyone had words of advice, but the most common words that were shared were to remember Clay and the memories we had with him. They told us not to let others forget how great of a person he was, and that thought brings tears to my eyes even to this day.

Everyone should remember Clay.

He may not have been the smartest person in the world, or the strongest, or the most beautiful, but that's what made him who he was. He had gone down the wrong road a few times, like all of us have, and had his share of mess-ups, but he had bounced back from them better than anyone expected him to.

The last time I saw Clay was the night before we had left for our cabin. The entire family was at home since we were leaving so early the next morning, and since Clay had to work the next day he hadn't gone out with his friends. He was laughing and cheerful, and we talked about how much fun we would have at our cabin that year, like we always did. Pretty soon we were recalling fond memories of our cabin, like the time Sean lost his swimming trunks when we were tubing, or the time Dad dropped his brand-new watch in the lake while we were fishing, or the time Jarrod, Ryan and Clay ran out of gas while they were fishing in our boat and had to be towed in by a friendly family that was passing by.

For a long time, I couldn't even think about my brother without breaking down, but it doesn't hurt so much anymore. I've had time to deal with everything and I realize that there are so many things about Clay that I'll never be able to forget.

Like the way he always claimed he couldn't stand Pudge, our family Basset Hound, but when he turned up missing Clay was always the first one out looking for him.

Or how he loved being a teacher, yet the only books he ever read on his own were Star Wars.

The way he would continuously encourage me to play basketball, even when I got hurt and most everyone else suddenly had more important things to do than help me with recovering.

The way his smile would turn up on the left just a little more than the right - as if he were smirking at you, like he knew something you didn't.

The way his face would light up with animation when he told a story, his eyes sparkling as he used his hands to help him convey his message.

How there was just this way about him that captured everyone's attention when he spoke.

Over time, I've learned that the best way to keep Clay alive is to remember the times I had with him. Now, when I'm home with my parents and Sean, we like to watch old home videos, or share old memories of Clay that have come to mind since the last time we've talked.

And now, after Clay's death, I'm beginning to learn who my brother really was. There are so many memories of Clay, but if there's one thing that really shows the way Clay was, it can best be seen in his task that killed him; helping someone when they needed him.

That's the Clay that I'll remember.