Remember my amazing Brother

I tried to be there for her; tried to be supportive of her substance abuse rehab, tried to get her back on track. She’s clean, but she’s still a little crazy.

And hurtful.

And I could do with a little less hand that feeds biting, too.

Was born 11 years before me. My only sibling.

He was tall, had sandy-colored, light-brown hair, and steel blue eyes, like my grandmother. The intellilgent eyes of a wolf.

He was quick witted. Extremely so. Outspoken, authoritative and well-liked by everyone. He was so popular, always.

He was the smart one, the good-looking one, the popular one. He was definitely the first born son.

My parents worshiped him and as an adult, he was their go-to guy, for everything.

He practically raised me, taught me everything I know.
And he taught me to never take anyone’s crap. He taught me to fight and defend myself, both physically, if it came down to it, and verbally, if someone came at me with broekn logic.

He died a week after my 19th birthday.
He was diagnosed with Leukemia while expecting his second child to be born. Thankfully, he saw him, but died two months later, so he never got to play with that son.

My parents never got over his loss.
Nor did I.

He motivates me to get my tired ass out of bed every day, and whenever I feel sorry for myself for having MS, I remember that I’ve had 10 years he never got. When I turned thirty, I felt like my life hadn’t even started yet, and I remembered that his had ended then.

Sorry for myself.
that’s not an option.