My Brother Is Dead

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My brother is dead.

My family received the news yesterday that he was struck by a train and killed instantly. When someone in a family dies, a piece of each other member dies along with them; for it is all of us that makes a whole.

My brother possessed great skill as an artist. He was like a modern-day Rembrandt or Dali. Yet, he would never realize his full potential, or receive the great recognition of his craft.

My brother became a slave of drugs, which would control him throughout his life. The vile drugs would cost him the joys of a normal life. Drugs ripped away the love of family, and of shelter. Drugs removed his sensibility and morality. Drugs took everything, and left just the shell of a man.

My brother is dead.

The last time I or anyone else had seen my brother was over a decade ago. It was at my father’s funeral. Yet, tragically, I would lose my brother at that time too.

I would make the regretful decision to put my brother out of my mind. To me, my brother had died that day too. To me, his chances had been exhausted, and there was no reconciliation left in my heart.

Now as I look back, I ask myself, who was I to judge? I was a tragic mess myself. My brother was a drug addict, but I was a depressive alcoholic veteran trying to find my way in life. It would take me over a decade to get my life on track; which I am still doing. Yet, now I was high and mighty compared to my brother. I feel like a hypocrite.

My brother is dead.

Most times, we never become who we would like to be. Most times, those closest to us never become the person that we would wish they would be. Yet, it should be that we learn to accept ourselves and our love ones as they are. We must be the love and support that others need. My mother provided the love and support to my brother as she did to me. Without her and the rest of the family, I might be dead too.

My brother never had a day of peace. Hopefully, he has that now.

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