Diana. Diana-Banana. Di. Diyener. Yener. Yayner. Yayn. Yaynbow. Yaynbow-meister. You may have noticed I like to play with your name. I liked to play with you. You've been my playmate for as long as I can remember. Why do I have to stop playing so soon?

We were such easy vocal matches. Singing with you was always effortless. And sing we did. I luckily found the same quality in my wife - we were an unstoppable trio. Add a fine bass to our midst - and it was sooo good. I mean really good. The kind of good that eloquently displays the whole as being so much greater than the sum of its parts. The kind of good that makes me believe in God.

I was so proud of you. I loved showing you off. I remember distinctly revelling in those few years we had when we were in the same school - high school, college - three years between us kept the time short, but I played it for all it was worth. I remember your first days at Dartmouth. I was so excited that I would call your machine and leave messages entirely rhyming with my current nickname for you. "Yayn, yayn, you're on my brain, could it be rain, whats up in Spain..." And I didn't mind being occassionally mistaken for your younger brother. And my pride didn't stop after college. You never ceased to astound me - pressing the boundaries - questioning the most basic tenets of our upbringing - I mean, you even told Mom meat makes you barf and she should use cloth napkins. What were you thinking?! That's our Mom!

I loved making you laugh. OK, it was really easy. But what better place to practice than on your next-born sister? You gave me this kind of support for my entire life, and I'm quite sure it wasn't because you always thought I was funny or you always thought I was correct. It was just because I was your brother.

In classic first-born style, I've decided to make the rest of this all about me. Oh sure I could go on about our antics as kids, our shining moments as young adults, and our triumphs of late, but I guess I have to stick it to you one last time. I know I should be trying to remember you to this audience - but I can't escape the new feelings your passing has woven into the very core of my being.

My life, my confidence, my happiness are affected by a great many forces, but the foundation on which they stand is my family. I now find a large part of that foundation gone. We are all scrambling to re-adjust, to re-align each other's foundations - the load is so heavy with your share unsupported. How can we make up for the love that you gave - that we feel we have lost.

As I look back on the Kornet family chronicles, I move from the obvious questions of Why now? Why so soon? Why us? to the not-so-obvious question: How have we managed to be so lucky for so long? The endless vacations and Christmases and weddings and concerts and birthdays and phone calls with 'I love you' at the end. How could this have gone on forever? There is no balance here. The things we fought about always seemed so trivial in the shadow of the overwhelming sense of love and interdependence our family shares. It's been a great ride, and there's probably even more to come, but I guess it's time for us to pay up.

You know that one of my dreams has always been to be a singer/songwriter. I pursue the singer part with reckless abandon but the songwriter part has been quite elusive. Why? As I looked at my songwriter idols over the years, I came to realize that I didn't have the one thing they all seemed to have. Pain. Grief. Agonizing, gut-wrenching, mind-melting loss. How could I write songs competetively when this depth of feeling was so obviously missing from my own life? Well. Now I'm here. And you know what? I want this gone. I want you back. I keep going back in my mind to the last few minutes I had before I knew you were gone. How beautiful they were. How could I not have enjoyed them more? How could I have been such a different person than I am now? I have all but extracted myself from my normal daily life. I don't watch the news anymore. I don't play music in the car on the way to work. Once there, I can't work as fast or effectively as I used to. Barely a moment slips by where I am not imagining your fall, wanting to catch you, stop you, hug you. Or I am straining to remember the sound of your voice, yearning to feel the strength of your presence on this Earth. I am barely aware of the passage of time. I don't tell acquaintances who don't need to know - just so I can peer into the world of what it was like to not know you're gone - and to try to see how people interacted with me before they knew. I also look at other people differently. Strangers - how can they be living the same lives they were 2 weeks ago, when mine has changed forever. Moreover, how could I have been so blind to the pain many have undoubtedly suffered around me. There they probably were - devastated - their lives changed forever, and as I offered condolences, I could not know. I could not feel the pain. I could not truly understand. I was the other - the one who lived his life the same as he did before someone else's devastating loss occurred.

I am so afraid that this pain will never end. I am even more afraid that it will end. If I ever get over your loss I swear I will be a lesser man than the one I am now, and the one I was loving you living. I love you Yayn. As long as I love, I will. I beg you to forever infiltrate my dreams so I can play and sing with you again and again.