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I was with my brother when he died, holding his hand when I told the doctors to stop working on him. I'll never forget how he looked - completely unlike himself. Bloated, blue, almost unrecognizable. I had to keep telling myself "that's not him, that's not him, that's not him." It was just his body. I told him it was okay, that he could go now. In a way it was peaceful. Later, when they'd cleaned his body up, though, and we got to say goodbye, I just lost it. Seeing that body there and knowing that it's not him anymore was just such a shock. The whole thing was very humbling, but also very, I don't know, steeling. I never knew before how strong I could be. I know now.
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"If ten million people believe a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing."
- Anatole France
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