Essay: Will my brother be at the World Series? I think so

“We’re going to the World Series!” 56,000 Dodgers fans erupted as the team defeated the New York Mets, launching LA into the spotlight once again. 

All eyes are now on two of baseball's biggest rivals: the Dodgers and the Yankees. These legendary teams have faced off eleven times in the Fall Classic. 

Much of the excitement will revolve around the franchise legends, the high-stakes pitching matchups, and the endless analysis of postseason stats—batting averages, home runs, and on-base percentages, all being compared to regular-season performances.

Many fans are saying that Los Doyers have even more reason to win now, doing it for Fernando Valenzuela, who passed away two days after the Dodgers had clinched their place in the Series. It seems so fitting. After all, the 1981 Dodgers vs. Yankees World Series was Fernando's rookie year when he became the first pitcher in MLB history to win the Cy Young Award and Rookie of the Year in the same season. He famously pitched a complete game victory in Game 3. And in a poetic twist, if a Game 6 happens this year, it will fall on Fernando’s birthday. Baseball fans are notoriously prone to magical thinking (think Rally caps and calling a no-hitter game a "no-no" during the game), but then again, could all these coincidences be a sign?

I’ve certainly witnessed my share of mystical signs and coincidences at baseball games—and even before Fernando’s passing, I was thinking about ghostly presences that might show up at this year’s World Series.

You see, my biggest Dodgers fan, my brother David, passed away suddenly last year at the age of 57.

I was at the game this past month when the Dodgers clinched their spot in the 2024 World Series. As fans screamed and cheered, my phone buzzed with texts from friends and family. "David would be so happy," they said. Yes, but it’s bittersweet. Christmas without David was hard, but I know having a Dodgers World Series without him will be even harder.

David and I grew up in Echo Park, just a short walk from Dodger Stadium. Baseball, especially the Dodgers, was at the core of who he was. One of his oldest friends, Teddy Reyes, remembered that when they played baseball together as children, David knew everybody's position and their stats—not just on their own team, but also on the rival teams. For David, the love of sports, family, and friends was one and the same.

After David’s passing, the Dodgers became a way for our family to express and process our grief. We invited guests to wear their Dodgers gear to his memorial; some sent flower arrangements in Dodgers colors or shaped like baseballs. The Dodgers became a language of love for us in our loss. When David was honored on Dodger Stadium’s electronic board during Fernando Valenzuela’s jersey retirement last year, we were there with 50 members of the Elks Lodge, where David worked.

That’s what baseball is for many of us. Yes, we follow the games, the wins, our favorite players. But whether we're watching at the stadium, at home, or listening on the radio, baseball is a communal experience, at the heart of our favorite memories. While some families say, "Remember that Christmas when…" for us it’s “Remember when Ramón Martinez pitched a no-hitter against the Marlins?”

Baseball was in David’s DNA and passed on to his son, Justin, who has gone to Dodger games his whole life. Justin remembers moments with perfect clarity. “This is where we sat when Fernando Tatis Sr. hit two grand slams in one inning,” he said recently. He was right. He was four years old at the time, but that historic event is ingrained in him—a legacy from his father, a reminder of his blue-blood genealogy.

Even though David isn’t physically with us anymore, he's always in our hearts. And sometimes it’s more than a memory. I’ve never been one to believe in signs, but since David passed, I’ve started to reconsider, especially when I’m at Dodger Stadium.

At Opening Day this past March, I wore David’s jersey—number six for Steve Garvey, his favorite player from childhood. Justin asked me, "So what’s an example of a sign?" Right then, a man my brother’s age sat down in front of us, wearing a ballcap with the name “David” embroidered on it. I smiled and said, "Maybe something like that."

Later in the season, I visited the Stadium Club to see a bartender friend of David’s named Josh. When Josh spotted the photo of David I carried in my clear stadium bag, he asked if he could place it at the bar so he could talk to David, especially after a busy night. I laughed and handed it over, knowing how much David loved that place. As Josh put the photo on the bar, one of David’s favorite songs, Luther Vandross's "The Power of Love," started playing. Its first line, “When I say goodbye it is never for long.” It felt like more than a coincidence.

For Game Six of the series that sent the Dodgers to the World Series, we met Justin and his wife Kassy. As we settled into our seats, I noticed the person in front of us had placed some snacks prominently on the ledge in front of them, including a bag of pepitas emblazoned with the name "DAVID"—a snack not sold at Dodger Stadium. I looked at our gang and laughed and said, “I'm okay if we just call this a coincidence.” But immediately afterward, the Jumbotron showed two men, one of whom looked remarkably like my brother. He was making the "LA" sign, forming the letters "L" and "A" with his hands to represent everything that signifies pride in LA. I have a picture of David and Justin posed the same way, with David making the same sign. My husband Ian grabbed my hand and squeezed; his eyes already filled with tears. Clearly, David was with us.

Ian, Justin, Kassy and I won’t be attending the World Series this year. We wanted to—Game 6, if needed, will fall not only on Fernando’s birthday but on Justin’s, David’s son, as well. But with prices hovering in the thousands, it just wasn’t an option. Still, like many fans—whether they’re wearing Dodger blue and white or Yankee pinstripes—I’ll be thinking of David, just as I’m sure others are thinking of their loved ones who have passed, knowing they’re with us.