A prose about the death of my brother.
|When people watch or read the news, it is hard to imagine the devastation that would occur if it happened to our family. An event such as people dying too young from tragedy is a horrendous experience that should never transpire. My brother died, at age 33, from a drug overdose. It’s obvious that I really miss him; in fact, I am becoming very emotional just by thinking and writing about my sibling. Do I miss the behavior that he acted upon because of being high on drugs? I certainly do not miss his “addictive personality.” When my brother was sober, he was a great individual who everybody would love. Words cannot express the pain that my family and I experienced when he died. There is a huge difference between imagining the agony and feeling the misery. Tears and memories become too overwhelmed for the cognitive thought process. Numerous individuals say that they can never move on if their son or daughter died, but the truth is that most people continue to live. Life after losing someone you love is extremely hard, but my parents realize that they have other children that need care. My brother wants everybody in the family to be happy, and if we all can’t fight for this important cause, he has died for nothing.|