23: My Beautiful Aaron

Aaron in Mexico, 1996

This September 11th marks the 23rd anniversary of the death of my brother, Aaron Jacobs, in the World Trade Center. I have been typing these same words for years and have rarely felt so stopped short by them as I do now, particularly under Aaron’s face in this photo I just dug up from the time he spent after college in Mexico teaching English. My impulse to tell him to put sunblock on feels both brotherly and parental.

Aaron and our cousin and I, 1998

In our pictures together I’m starting to see people near my children’s ages, and I’m reminded of Aaron’s gift of being content in his body, part of his overall nature of not hanging onto hurt or the cruelty of others that would burden most people. As my mom said recently, “He never hurt anyone,” and I think that comes through in how he carried himself, and in his open gaze.

Aaron on the ocean, 1998

Aaron was fortunate in combining his good looks with his aptitude for helping people and bringing groups together. Despite having some horrendous times in elementary and middle school as an original ADD child, and switching high schools/hometowns at 16, he always maintained strong groups of friends throughout his teens and 20s. When I see pictures of Aaron smiling in groups, it always seems as though he’s smiling to be part of the group. I don’t think his brief taste of crazy Wall Street money changed that, or would have in his future.

Aaron with me and our parents, late 90s

Sometimes people say that Aaron’s qualities would be so welcome in the world today to address some crisis or another. I agree with that, but I can’t really accept the premise of “Aaron’s smile” in this world and timeline. I have so many blessings in my life but am constantly reminded of how my whole world is shaped by the absence of Aaron in his totality. I guess that’s part of what I am gesturing towards in the poem I share below, about looking for him in all sorts of places, especially where there is nature and beauty.

If you remember Aaron and think of our family, thank you.


Aaron’s Zagat review notes

Before the Internet, there were Zagat Guides to restaurants in every major city, maroon pocket guides that lots of people had. Aaron took notes towards his own would-be Zagat reviews, including these hits:

Burritoville: Real cheap. Flaccid burritos.

Butterfield 81: Clubby, beyond overpriced. Stuffy. Boring. May it go out of business soon!

Cafe de Bruxelles: Delicious food & bar. Always reliable. Underrated except by me.

Carnegie Deli: Pastrami from heaven. Dine with your cardiologist for fast intervention.

Osteria del Circo: Abhorrent service and attitude. They told us we were there too long after we spent $1,100 for six people.


Looking for Otters
 
All tapered, watchful, streamlined
back from whiskers to racing ears to
claws. Even in this stream I saw one,
dowsing its snout through multiple
elements, more than I could see.
 
First solid, then liquid, then
grief: Whitman’s lesson on
how the body’s messy journey carries others.
“I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy
jags"—the petals carpeting the water
keep my brother to heart, though I
loved him for his self-
making towards some destiny downstream.
 
Now we know that Whitman’s brother, Eddy,
often shared Walt’s bed: sweet, slow, did the
poet remember him in “eddies”? I go
quiet looking at our photos, my body
regressing forward next to his constant
sleekness at 27. I imagine going
to bro-hug him now and slipping
underneath or through, memory
vortex and still
waters.
 
      If I could
X-acto a bird shape into this creek 
you'd see Aaron for a second, before life
zeroed out the surface for the next otter.

8 thoughts on “23: My Beautiful Aaron

  1. Beautiful poem, connecting your image of beautiful Aaron woth images of beautiful nature. Lovely writing. My thoughts are with you and your family. Take care,
    Natália

  2. Hello, Josh – I was Aaron’s classmate at Colgate. We lived in the same dorm freshman year. We weren’t close, but he was quite memorable and a really good person. I thought to reach out to your family this year, as I say hi to Aaron just about every morning when running by the 9/11 Memorial on the Weehawken waterfront; and hoped knowing this might bring you some solace on this solemn anniversary. I’m so glad that I found this site and was able to read your beautiful poem. I wish you and your family all the best.

    Sincerely,
    Alan Schwartz

  3. You write so beautifully. Aaron was everything you speak of and though I did not know him for many years his smile and warm, open spirit have made an indelible mark on my heart.
    He will always be remembered and forever missed.
    XO Tara

  4. Reading the restaurant reviews right above your poem reminds me of what it was like to see you & Aaron side by side. Two distinct flavors of awesomeness

  5. Hi Josh,

    I am Alan’s wife and never had the chance to meet Aaron. He just shared your words with me and I had to tell you that Looking for Otters is beautiful and brought tears to my eyes. He lives through your expressions.

    Best wishes and peace to you and your family.

  6. Thank you Josh for sharing. I think of you and your family and Amy– and Aaron often. I love the photos you shared– so very late 1990s and 2000. I love the otter poem. Thank you for sharing a piece of your heart with others. We are all connected.

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