Brandon Fazio – unfiltered

Dear Brother,

I’ll never forget the day we met. It was third-grade recess, and a few kids had decided I was an easy target — shy, insecure, heavier then the rest – with a speech impediment to boot. You saw what was happening and shut it down in a heartbeat. Whatever you said, or did to them worked, because they never bothered me again. From that day forward, we were brothers.

I remember walking to the public library to play Oregon Trail on their brand-new computer. It felt like magic back then.

I remember the summers in the woods behind your house — catching frogs and tadpoles in the stream, building forts, making small fires we thought were enormous. Those were the first places I ever felt like I belonged.

I’ll never forget the day you got your driver’s license. Your parents let you take the black Trans Am — the one with the gold Firebird on the hood and the V8 you could feel rumbling from blocks away. We took the T-tops off and drove all day with the music blasting. By society’s standards we were never the cool kids – but that day we were kings.

There were the small things too. Like the Thanksgiving pumpkin pie that got burnt. I snuck into the kitchen and ate the entire unburnt center the night before the holiday. I was a real munchie basterd, I didn’t think anyone would want it being burnt.  I think that might’ve been the only time your mom was ever upset with me. Makes me giggle to this day. 

And then there was the day you fell in love. You’d been crushing on her for months in high-school band. She took a while to warm up, but eventually she saw the man behind the jet-black hair, the leather jacket, the Trans Am, and the Rage Against the Machine tapes blasting down the country roads. She fell in love with the kind, big hearted, and funny person that I called my brother. I gained a sister. 

Every time I ended up in the hospital, you two were there — sometimes with contraband tobacco, always with warmth and laughter. You two were a light in some of my darkest moments.

I’ll always cherish the countless dinners at your house, followed by hours of Mario Kart late into the night. 

And then came the call I’ll never forget. You were sobbing — “She left.” I thought it was just a fight. Something the two of you would sort out. I never imagined we’d be standing at her funeral a week later. A heart attack at 24, out of nowhere. They played her favorite music at calling hours. It took me years before I could listen to Somewhere Over the Rainbow on ukulele without breaking.

A piece of you died that day. A piece of me too.

We found our way forward, eventually. But life was never the same. 

Time, in its slow and stubborn way, kept moving — and eventually, so did you. 

I remember the day you called with news that you were having a son. You were excited, and terrified all at the same time. I was so happy, and excited to welcome a new nephew to the family. 

Years passed, I found myself relocated to Las Vegas. Though there was thousands of miles between us – we had our frequent check-ins. Visits became rare due to life demands, when we were together though it was as though we were still the little boys who met on the playground, excited to see one another and catch up. 

I’ll never forget the day I was in my office doing admin work when I got the call. You didn’t wake up. Asphyxia at 38. 

I knew from our last conversation you were in custody battles for your son. You were wrecked over it all. I suppose your heart took all that it could. 

My inner child mourned for weeks. I held him close. I told him I love him. I told him I’m here now. I told him I’ll carry what he no longer had to. I emerged stronger. More resilient. I learned how to stay calm amidst any chaos. 

I like to believe each of us are born with a purpose to fulfill. I believe you fulfilled yours – you spread kindness, generosity, laughter, experienced true love, experienced true loss – and brought a beautiful son to the world. 

When the time is right, I’ll find your son.  I’ll tell him who his father was —  the boy who defended me, the friend who showed up, the brother I was lucky enough to grow up beside. I’ll make sure he knows. 

To the brother life gave me, who will always walk with me.