18 years ago, my life changed. My only brother, who I eventually named my own son after, died. He was 17 years old. The scar from that day runs so deep within me, much deeper than any scar from any cancer surgery I've ever had.
Sam was sweet. He never got a chance to be anything but sweet.
I'm struggling to move through this date of March 12th. My past forces me to feel it, whether I want to, or not. I'm struggling. I've lost a circle of people I loved so much and have to believe that they are on the other side, watching over me, helping me not to fall when I'm weary.
I'm sitting at my desk in my office, listening to the saddest music I have to go with the sorrow I feel today.
He never loved a woman. He never held his own child. He never graduated. I cannot even put into words the sorrow I felt. I can't even begin to explain how much I loved my baby brother. I can't begin to explain how his death nearly destroyed my soul. I can't begin to explain how much I wanted to join him, even while being a new bride, carrying a son in my own belly.
The last words I said to Sam were, 'Sam, it's going to be ok, you'll be ok. I love you'. And then they wheeled him away. And then, he was dead.
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