by Sonja Mey
A letter I wrote to my brother just before I died. For the writing contest.
I don’t know when you’ll find this. I just wish that things could have gone better between us when I was still healthy, before I got drunk and crashed into that wonderful family with four kids and three of them died. You’re probably so disappointed in me…or maybe you’re just glad I’m getting out of your way now.
I don’t know, brother. You’ve always been a mystery to me; I’ve never been able to tell if you were lying or what you were thinking, like I can with Anna. She blurts out everything that comes to her mind…although you have to give her a break; she’s only seven…whereas you are quiet, almost enigmatic. Did you like my use of that word right there? When I was younger you sometimes tried to teach me words.
So anyway, I just wanted to say that, well, I love you. Even if you can’t love me anymore.