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It has to be the day my brother died. He was schizophrenic and lived with me and my husband. He'd been acting really weird, to the point of scaring me and hubby, for about a week. He went to the store, came back, and asked me if I had any tylenol. I told him where the bottle of ibuprofen was, he went into the bathroom for awhile, and then came out and lay down in the front room with me and my son. He soon started snoring and after awhile, went quiet. I thought he was in a deep sleep. It was only when I went into the bathroom and found all the pill bottles that I realized why he'd been snoring, but by then he was dead and there was nothing I could do. I think the worst part was the calls I had to make after the police got there.
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"They say that patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings; steal a little and they throw you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king"
Formerly Medusa
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