Tomorrow is my birthday. I had celebrated 65 of my birthdays with my brother, Johnny. Tomorrow will be the fifth birthday that I was unable to celebrate with Johnny since he died . Every year, for a long time, he would buy me a blue hyacinth plant for my birthday and I would plant them in my backyard on Long Island or later in Northern New Jersey. He often would also bring me a blueberry pie as it was my favorite pie.

I miss my hyacinths and blueberry pies on my birthday. My birthdays have never been the same. I will miss my brother tomorrow and every day for the rest of my life. I would give anything, anything at all, to have my brother back even for just one minute.

The month of April usually will bring most people joy as it is the beginning of April flowers blooming. Putting away their coats. But in my world it starts the beginning of the names of those I have met who have lost their special person. It starts with Larry, Perry, Louis, Johnny, Jody, my Michael, and then Ben. These are just a few of those who passed due to Covid in April 2020. I have met their spouses through Covid connections and we have formed a bond. Their loss is my loss. The month of April does not bring us much joy anymore.

Yesterday I was scrolling through Facebook and came upon my step grandson’s junior prom photos his mom posted. He looked so handsome with his date by his side. It made me happy and it made me sad. My stepson Al should have been part of these important moments in his son’s life. I was sad for Nicholas who would have loved to have his dad there with him. So happy, yet so sad.

I thought I was a serious walker until I moved to New York and met my love. Walking three miles to and from my college campus was no big deal. I walked 50 to 100 blocks in Manhattan. But I had nothing on Ben.

Like me, Ben was often “in the zone” when he walked. When he headed to “the pizza store,” I’d see him coming full speed ahead down the street before he turned the corner into the restaurant entrance. His face was a study of intensity: half the time he looked like he was about to go read someone the Riot Act.

I knew not to wear heels when Ben and I were going somewhere. It was never just a meal. Lunch or dinner was the gateway to a full-fledged schlepfest.

We walked from the Bronx to downtown Yonkers. We schlepped the entire length of South Brooklyn. We trekked every retired rail line that had been upcycled into a walking trail. Even when we talked of his younger years, pounding the literal pavement was central to Ben’s life. He spent lonely teenage summers walking the perimeter of Brooklyn Army Terminal. He processed his first girlfriend’s dumping him with a long walk. He secured parental permission to walk city train yards at 15.

Ben never studied philosophy, as I did in my college major, but he would have appreciated Soren Kierkegaard: “Above all, do not lose your desire to walk. Everyday, I walk myself into a state of well-being & walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it. But by sitting still, & the more one sits still, the closer one comes to feeling ill. Thus if one just keeps on walking, everything will be all right.”

I remembered that when I walked the Brooklyn Bridge in his memory at the Covid March to Remember.

My “Uncle Vic” died last week. I put that in quotation marks because he wasn’t a blood relative. He was my dad’s best friend. I lost my dad four years ago and now that Uncle Vic has died (he was 91), it feels like another piece of my dad is gone. Uncle Vic got sick about 10 years ago and I remember thinking how devastated my dad was going to be if he died. Who knew what the universe would have in store …

My siblings and I went to the wake and funeral. Shared a lot of memories with my “cousins.” Our families grew up together. My mom was best friends with my “Aunt Peggy.” The only solace I take is that the Fab Four, as we called them, are together again.