In 1975 we paused in that space between adolescence and adulthood. We lived in the moment with the freedom to explore. Dorian, our cousin from the Edwards-Ranlett family, the eldest son of Jessie Ranlett, my mother’s sister, was the older male cousin that I most looked up to, someone who wasn’t afraid to walk on the wild side and introduced me and my brother, David, to so much music and to the joy of living. Living closer to the Bay, Dorian was much closer to everything that made the 70’s so special -music, places, and people.

Dorian played in his own band and had many concerts at the Mabuhay Gardens and other venues. His brand of rock music and his oversize personality made him a natural front man. I wish I had spent more time listening to his music or seen him perform. He was interested in my older sister Stephanie’s career as a musician and knew it was possible. I remember Stephanie singing Carole King’s “You´ve Got a Friend” once to him and he knew that we all treasured him.

His trouble with the law provided a silver lining and while incarcerated he learned to program in SQL, providing him with a living and a second chance to do things over. I sent him books while he was in the San Mateo lockup, and he devoured copies of Solzhenitsyn and Tom Wolfe. He had a humorous story of how he became “Enrique” there because, well, you have to pick a side. He also had the nickname of “Pencil” because of a spontaneous defense technique he once employed during an altercation with one of the residents. Using a pencil to defend himself, he proved that the pen is mightier than the sword.

He became a faithful member of a Nar-Anon group and lived up to the 12 steps that were required of him. I was so surprised when he sent me $20 for a loan I had given him many years ago. He was loyal to his friends and family and loved everyone without reservation. Growing up tough, though, left many scars and the life lesson that you have to defend yourself in all situations, and danger was sometimes perceived and sometimes misperceived. He wasn´t somebody to push around and was as competitive playing chess as in anything else that he did.

My Auntie Jay and my Uncle Chuck were models of patience and loyalty, sticking with him throughout all travails. Sometimes this involved the tough love of cutting off support, but I knew that they were always waiting for him to come home again. We all pass through phases in life and Dorian was no exception. He found permanent employment as a programmer, married, and raised children. His wife, Leila, originally from Russia, had the constitution of a “ride or die” partner and weathered all of his ups and downs. Two of his children, Maia and Eden, live in North Carolina where I hope to visit one day. Another son and daughter, Connor Edwards and Niki Zaldivar live in Atlanta, Georgia. They are his enduring legacy. Inheriting his intelligence, his indefatigable spirit, his competitive nature, or any of his resilience will mark them as exceptional children.

As we mark the years, losing one friend or family member after another, we come to the conclusion that they have all contributed to who we are. I wouldn’t trade any of those memories for anything. And there is always that longing for one last trip, one last party, one last meeting that will cap off the ending to all that we mean to one another. Sometimes we are blessed with that final encounter and sometimes we are not. Dorian’s long-awaited trips to Europe and to South America never arrived. I was never able to show him the “Torres de Paine” in Patagonia or treat him to a “Pisco Sour,” but I can envision him from above, watching while I pour one out onto the ground for a fallen brother.