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It's been almost a year since my brother died and yup, it still sucks. I don't have the heart to take out the clothes of his that I kept and boxed up to see if they still smell like him. I doubt I'll ever wash them. I don't notice the "anniversary" of his death every month any more - February 25th came and went without me thinking about it much. But listening to my good friend make plans to fly out to the hospital in California to be with her dad who just had a stroke brought back so many awful memories - planning for if he gets worse, sitting in the hospital waiting for some doctor to tell you something. And then he's just dead. All that waiting and hoping, and he's still dead. He was only 25. Hardly seems fair, but looking at everything he meant to me, and everything that's happened to me and my family since he died, it hasn't been without meaning. It's just part of life, and you either grow from it or you let it kill you before you're really dead.
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"If ten million people believe a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing."
- Anatole France
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