My beloved younger brother, Benyam/Biniam aka Binny, died a bit over a month ago. The official date is May 21, 2023, but he died before that. We don't know exactly when he died, or how, and I can't really explain all the reasons why we don't know these things. We'll get more detailed toxicology results in some time, which may be able to say definitively what was going on in his body at the time of his death. Personally I'm more interested in what was going on in his mind and his spirit at that time, answers that no test can give.
Benyam's memorial service was Saturday. The service brought me comfort along with tears. I shared some reflections during the service, along with two of Benyam's friends. I wanted some place to keep these reflections, so here they are.
I was 3 when Benyam was adopted. Up until then I had been called the baby of the family, a title I did not want to give up. But then Dad went to Ethiopia and brought Benyam back to Indianapolis, and I got over the baby of the family thing pretty quickly after that. From then on Benyam was my little brother and I couldn’t imagine our family being any other way.
Like I think all siblings do, we went through different phases in our relationship. We got along pretty well as kids, whether it was playing with our animals — cats, ducks, and our dog Scrappy — or trying to sneak in a little tv watching before our parents got home or having candy trades or commiserating about whatever boring place our parents insisted on taking us — like our spring break trip to Illinois — or just being silly and making each other laugh. He always loved having someone to kick around a soccer ball with, even if in my case I don’t think it was very good practice for him because I definitely couldn’t keep up with his moves. Occasionally we would fight, and Benyam would call me a crybaby, which made me absolutely furious. The truth is I have never cried more than in these last few weeks that he’s been gone.
Even though it felt completely normal to me that Benyam was part of the family, as a Black boy and then a young Black man in America, his experiences moving through the world were vastly different than the rest of ours. He was from Ethiopia but not completely a part of Ethiopian culture and at the same time not completely a part of Black American culture. He didn’t open up or share how he felt about that, or a lot of other things, at least with me. And I can’t blame him — I also find it really hard to talk about my feelings. After his death, our family has even more questions about what Benyam was going through. We’ll never have answers to most of those questions, and I’m trying to accept that. But you don’t have to know everything about someone or understand them completely to love them.
After I moved out of Indianapolis I saw Benyam a lot less. I wondered and sometimes worried about Benyam’s future, but I never imagined losing him like this. I took it for granted that we would have much more time and many more phases of our sibling relationship still to come. I was always glad when I did get to see Benyam — he was easygoing and fun to be around and once in a while would actually entertain hanging out and talking about life. I cherish the memory of Benyam at my wedding, when he did the equivalent of walking me down the aisle. Him being there and being part of the rituals of the wedding ceremony was such a gift.
Benyam is gone way too soon. I’m grateful for the time I did have with him. And I miss him. I wish I could have seen Benyam at age 40, 50, and beyond.
But I hope he’s at peace. I hope the next life is easier on him than this one was. And I like to think he gets to hold Scrappy again.