I tiptoed through the plush redwood forest at dusk, holding Trent’s hand. Laden with a backpack on his back, he let me go first. I hadn’t been back here since that time so long ago with Trent and Degan.

Where once there was a rough log to cross the stream, now someone had built a sturdy bridge arching over the gleaming water.

“Can’t you just feel the good vibes?” I asked Trent.

He smiled at me and took a deep breath. “Yeah. He’s here, I think.”

Degan was there.

We hiked until we got to a clearing, and Trent unpacked the bag we brought—a blanket, candles, matches, Cocoa Puffs, milk, bowls, spoons, and napkins, along with a speaker for his phone. I spread out the blanket, then set the white votive candles in mason jars and lit them, creating a lively glow.

Carefully, I poured out three servings of cold cereal. One for Trent. One for me. One for Degan.

I added milk.

“Cheers,” I said, and took a bite, the cold, chocolaty sugar hitting my taste buds.

“Cheers,” repeated Trent, and clinked his bowl with mine. He leaned over to turn on the music. “You know he liked Miley, too.”

“I know.”

“Is it inappropriate to play ‘Wrecking Ball’?”

Shaking my head, my mouth full of Cocoa Puffs, I said, “It would be inappropriate not to play “Wrecking Ball” at Degan’s funeral.”

For the past six weeks, Trent had been living with me in my apartment. He’d changed classes, but was still studying Spanish. And getting better every day.

We’d gone back home to honor my brother. When we got back to California, we went to dinner at Trent’s parents’ house. His mother held me as if she were my own mother.

Trent emerged from his room holding a small box. “These are Degan’s things.” I held it reverently. We also made a trip to the small storage space I’d rented for so many years, pulling out photographs and memorabilia and selecting some to take back to Spain with us.

And we’d made a trip to Degan’s grave. I’d stayed there for hours, playing UNO with Trent and talking to Degan.

I think he would have liked it.

With the pop song winding its way around the trees, Trent and I now ate our cold cereal dinner in honor of my brother. Trent let out a laugh. “I was just thinking. Remember that time he changed all the abbreviations on your phone, so whenever you meant to text ‘okay’ it came up, ‘I love meatballs’?”

“Yes! What a brat. It took me ages to change all of them back. I’d go to text ‘Hey’ and it said ‘I do it Gangnam Style.’” I shook my head at the memory.

We ate and talked and let the light go low. We had flashlights to find our way back to the car, no problem. For now, once the music stopped, we listened to the noises of the woods.

My brother was there with us. I knew it. I could feel him. His love. His voice. His spirit.

When it was almost too dark to read, I said, “It’s time to read the letter.” With shaking hands, I slid my finger down the edge and ripped it open.

My dearest, darling sister Dani,

Just kidding. You’re totally a dork.

Actually, no. I maybe didn’t tell you this as much as I should have, however, since you’re only reading this letter since I’m dead, I can say it with a straight face. Or, well, write it with a straight face. And mean it. You really are my dearest, darling sister.

When mom was sick, you took care of me. You brought me Apple Jacks when I wanted Cocoa Puffs, waited until the tears started just to mess with me, then produced the Cocoa Puffs behind your back. I think that’s Big Sister 101. We’re not gonna talk about the time you made me wear makeup. Or a dress.

But despite those shortcomings, you are the best, kindest, most amazing big sister I ever had. Of course, you’re the only, but you’re the best anyone could ever have.

You drove me to football practice, baseball practice, and cut short your dates with slacker losers so that you could make sure I had enough sleep for school.

After mom died, you hugged me, and we never thought we’d get over it. Then dad died, and we knew we were strong enough together, but we were lost, like the trunk of the tree of our family had been cut off, and all we had were branches and leaves on the ground. We had to build something new.

When I was in high school and you were in college, not so far away, I looked forward to you coming home on weekends. Mostly so I could use your car.

Just kidding. Mostly so I could see your giving, loving, radiant spirit. The way you feed off of joy and then give it back one hundred-fold. The way you live, Dani, it’s infectious. Your desire to help everyone understand each other, your insatiable appetite for new lands, your desire to get to know everyone. Your enthusiasm for life. I admire the way you live. I admire you.

I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to grow up more and become more like you.

I know when I left, you got mad because you don’t like the army. I do. But so what? Don’t worry about that. My love for you goes so much deeper than one fight. One disagreement. All is forgiven.

You have to know. I always wanted to be a soldier. No one talked me into this. It was my decision. I take responsibility for whatever happens to me. I’m going into this with my eyes completely open, since I’m writing this letter to you.

In your Universe, there is enough room for you to have a world where we all put down arms and love each other, and one for me to go off and defend your right to have that world. Yeah, it’s a mindfuck, but think about it. We can both coexist harmoniously in this Universe as you say, my darling, dearest hippie sister.

So don’t worry about anything you said. I know you didn’t mean it. Or rather, I know you meant that you were scared that I was going to die and that you loved me. I love you, too. Please know that I died fighting for what I most believe in. Your freedom.

Love,

Your little brother,

Degan

P.S. I hope you marry Trent. He’s not gonna read this. I’m gonna seal it up so he doesn’t know. But really, enough already. You guys are meant for each other.

P.P.S. I know you don’t do funerals, but if you do, you know what to do for me.

After I finished reading it out loud, I carefully folded it back up and put it in the envelope. I handed it to Trent, who put it in his back pocket. Then I turned to Trent, tears in my eyes. “I loved him. I still love him.”

“I do too,” he said, and he hugged me tight.

“All is forgiven.”

“All is forgiven.”