Farren Sheehan Smith
Sister
What was it like to be part of Ryan's family? I have spent a lot of time thinking about this, trying to think about how to talk about him without trying to reduce his life to a single page of 12 point type. That I loved him is the easy answer — but relationships, like people, are more complex than that.
At three years apart, I don't have any memories before Ryan. I remember him coming home from the hospital, filling me with a mixture of adoration and envy for all the attention he received. I remember climbing into his crib to sleep beside his little body, and later, him crawling next to me and curling back to back. For some reason he never liked to sleep alone — and I must admit this may have something to do with me telling him that his room was haunted. But he was a sweet child, painfully shy but easy to love.
We grew up with both parents and grandparents in the same house, so we were never on our own. We spent time like many children playing outside, catching tadpoles (which I would name after characters in Greek mythology, and he would call Spot or Toady), and running with our dog, Rodie. Everyone liked Ryan, and he had a much easier time making friends than I did. Although we were very different, we were bound together. When I was bullied, he cried.
Our biggest difference was our outlook. I dreamed of moving away — Paris, Ireland, L.A., anywhere to be on my own. Ryan was content. I once asked him how he could stand to stay in Pflugerville — didn't he want to see the world and have adventures? He replied that he was happy here and could not imagine a better place than home with his family.
I went to college and overnight, Ryan became a man. He was the responsible one. While I was explaining yet another dent in my car, he was working for the family business, marrying his high-school sweetheart, buying a house. He would roll his eyes at my behavior as if he were the older brother. When I eventually went to law school, I think he was proud of me. Ryan and Lisa visited me in New Orleans and I noticed the new traits emerging with his maturity. He was so tall and handsome — I think all my friends had crushes on him. In every crowd, he was the funniest, the coolest, the one everyone wanted to be friends with.
Honestly, I think he was one of the smartest people I ever met. Not only did he have an amazing memory, but he could put things together — a fact from the paper a year ago, along with something he heard the day before, to come up with a unique and usually correct solution.
There were times when out of the blue he would call and we would talk for hours — philosophy, foreign films, politics, religion — subjects he knew and cared about, but that no one associated with him. For those of you who did not know, he loved the movie Empire of the Sun, did not think it mattered which party was in power, and wanted desperately to believe in a kind and loving God, but had a hard time reconciling it with the struggles in his life. He loved his dog Ranger, and wanted more than anything to connect with a real soul mate.
I moved back from Boston in 2004, and that summer was one of the times I was closest to Ryan in our adulthood. We saw each other every day. He finally got to know my children, and I think he was even a little overwhelmed at how my then three-year-old daughter adored him. My son christened him Uncle Rhino — which he pronounced Uncle Wino. Ryan said, "How did he know!" He could laugh at everything.
I feel no anger at Ryan for his decision. I think in some way he thought things would be better for us without him here. He thought the pain of his problems was worse than the pain of losing him. He was wrong. I miss him so much it still takes my breath at times.
I believe Ryan is at peace now — quiet, resting without pain. I believe he is watching over our family, guiding us, comforting us, making sure meaningful songs play on the radio. I would say I am a better person for having known him — and I just know that he is gone, and I miss him terribly.