Gone, Brother, Gone.

I have a brother.

He is nine years older than me.  He is intelligent and loving.  He makes me laugh and cry.  He makes me hold on to my hope.  He inspires me to be empathetic and understanding.  He makes me want to do more for my fellow human beings.

He is an addict.  He makes me angry.  He makes me cry tears of hurt, fear and pain.  He has injured and damaged me and others who love him.  He makes bad choices.  His addiction makes him selfish and unkind at times. He is a victim of his own choices.

My brother died on June 24th, 2018.  He was 52 years old.  He looked like me.

He was estranged and angry.  He was hurt and alone.  He was damaged; as much by his addiction as he was by those who were supposed to love him.  He still makes me want to be a better person.  He still inspires me to be empathetic and understanding.  His memory will still make me laugh.  And cry.

I had a brother.

 

 

 

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What illness taught me about how truly warped we all are

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