21 Years Later: Remembering My Twin Brother, Grief, Love, and the Signs That Never Fade

This is always an interesting time of year for me, or has been since 2005. For Americans, some of us are getting those last-minute tax returns in, but with that already checked off the books, for me, it’s more about reflecting on the twin brother who passed in his prime. 

I find it humorous the lead-up, the week before the anniversary, where, frankly, even now, 21 years later, I’m subdued in some moments, reflective at others, and any patience I do have is out the door as my body and mind go back to that week and those last interactions. The movie Fever Pitch springs its head as that was the last movie I told my Red Sox-obsessed brother to go to with his expecting fiancée. 

They never did make it to the movie, nor did he get to watch the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy episode with the Red Sox championship players, including our mutual favorites of Jason Varitek and Tim Wakefield. Little things still bring me pause, even here in Tangier, living what feels like half a world away. 

His son is turning 21 this year, which we all know is a rite of passage. Still, it’s a bit surreal to watch his child grow into a man, while my brother never got to experience any of that process. As for his fiancée, she made the final transition home a decade after Stephen, leaving a heavier weight on this annual holiday. We aren’t just talking about my twin, but the woman he loved as well.

I know it’s far easier to write she died, but then again, the word transition makes it seem less final. Even Stephen, my dear twin, physically died. Trust me, I’m well aware, as I can see the bloodied clothes from the car accident, and can feel the emotions run through me as if it were yesterday. Sheesh, I can open up the page from Running With Vince, where I literally explained that scene, the plastic bag with his belongings, those blood-stained clothes representing some relic that the medics and hospital thought we would want to keep. 

His car was totaled, I know it well as I climbed in through the trunk, trying to salvage what belongings remained, or dare I say, he left behind. Fittingly, Phil Collins' greatest hits CD was taken with him, lost in the carnage, as were several other musical hits that Stephen had commandeered without my permission years earlier. I still laugh, finding these little tokens in the years that have passed. 

Again, he physically left, but his influence and touch still permeate everything, or maybe just enough of my daily environment to realize he is still around, helping in other ways. Even now, here in Morocco, I put on our local radio station 98.7, from Somersworth, New Hampshire, and the first song that comes on is REO Speedwagon’s “Keep On Loving You.” 

If I needed a cosmic wink that Brother Bear was around, there couldn’t have been a clearer sign. This was one of his anthems, a song I have been forced to like, and a funny reminder of the twin dynamic we shared. Flashback to the infamous Snow Bowl, the game between the Raiders and Patriots, that led to the “Tuck Rule” and to Adam Vinatieri’s winning kick that eventually took us to the Super Bowl.

The dynamic duo started off at Crazy’s Ottos, a dive bar to begin the game, so Stephen could check in with his local bookie (no joke) and have a couple beers with heavenly wings while watching our home team play. I don’t remember much about the first half of the game or even up until the fourth quarter, save that we were losing 13-3 and I told him we were going home to watch the rest of the game from there. There was no point in being sad at a bar when we could do it from the living room, less than two miles away.

Stephen turned up the television as we arrived just in time to watch the Patriots drive down the field and score their first touchdown of the game. He was nuts. He was loud. He was drinking his beer and screaming at the television set with every run, pass, and play. It was ridiculous, but then again, this was Patriots football, and Stephen loved them dearly. 

A few minutes later, he was back at it again. The Patriots had the ball and were driving in blizzard-like conditions. Somehow, some way, Vinatieri nailed that 45-yard kick through the uprights, tying the game and taking us to overtime. Stephen was off the rails, screaming louder, jumping up and down, and of course turning on his celebration anthem of REO Speedwagon. 

He was a party unto himself. Even with me pleading with him to turn down the music so I could hear the television, he insisted on getting through the first verse and chorus before he recentered enough for the overtime period. He also refused to move out of the way so I could turn the stereo off, which made the entire exchange even funnier. 

I was excited about the overtime period, but I didn’t need to shout to the neighbors on the other side of our living room wall or to anyone walking their dogs past the front door. He was so LOUD, but that was him. I just wanted to clap and take it all in. 

Now, in 2026, the song still plays, and I’m brought back to those moments, to this exchange and others. It doesn’t take much to bring him front and center, and for that I’m grateful. As for football games, I can’t watch them anymore without taking on his boisterous traits or the over-the-top passion for our home team to do well. 

I will say I prefer the little winks, his reminding me of our moments, of the twin boys who grew up together, and even now, years later, share a bond that can’t be broken. Anniversaries will continue to come and go, with different perspectives and challenges, but the love remains. That’s all that matters.

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