It’s my brother’s birthday again, the day each year when I marvel at what age he would be if he hadn’t died — nearly 16 years ago now — from a fall while hiking in the Colorado mountains, and I deeply wish he were here so we could celebrate in person. Nevertheless, I always like to mark the day he was born, and it’s become less sad over time. Today, David would have been 63. Sixty-three! He would have said that sounds O-L-D.
One of his former colleagues and friends recently sent me a note musing about whether he would have been retired by now — retired from radiology, to be clear, not adventuring — to have more time for what he wanted to do most: exploring the outdoors and competing, away from the demands of practicing medicine. David’s brand of old wouldn’t have been like other people’s old, I can damn near guarantee. Sure, maybe he wouldn’t have been outpacing 20-somethings on race courses anymore (don’t tell him I said that!), and he might be complaining about his knees, but he would still be globe-trotting and taking on as many physical challenges as possible. Just thinking about it gets me going.
Is it possible that my big brother continues to inspire me even though he’s gone? It absolutely is.
The different thing about this birthday from previous ones is that this was the year of The Book. After a decade of writing, editing, pitching, failing, polishing, sweating, swearing, and so very much crying, my memoir about loving and losing David was finally published. In a weird way, he was reborn, because so many people who never knew him when he was alive were able to meet him. I have received so many notes from readers saying they wished they knew him before.
Nothing made me feel more assured than when my dad, after reading the book, wrote me and said, “You nailed David.” If I had botched the characterization of him, I would have deemed myself unworthy of ever setting pen to page again.
And nothing made me feel more connected to David than what my former MFA professor — and forever literary fairy godmother — Suzanne Strempek Shea said about my story:
“With the energy, skill, muscle, and bravery that powered her beloved late brother as an elite adventurer, Anne Pinkerton’s Were You Close? is as much map as memoir illustrating how the author scaled her personal mountain range of grief.”
The analogies humble me, especially coming from such a wonderful and respected writer and friend. Getting David right is one thing; likening me to him in any way, comparing my work to his, makes me feel equal parts bashful and proud. Unlike him, I have earned no big awards for my efforts, but feel no less like a winner. It is the honor of my life to share a little of him with the world through my writing.
Just when I thought I couldn’t feel closer to my brother, I find myself at a library reading saying, “we have an ongoing relationship,” and I believe what I’m saying. My birthday present to David this year is to continue the conversation I keep having with people through the book, to stay inspired despite the obstacles, to keep him alive this way.
Now, if only I could retire early to do more of my own kind of adventuring. 🙂
Anne Pinkerton 
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