I am full of cliches with this suffering and sadness. It is still very raw. Stuff like: "a huge chunk has been ripped out of me." I don't have any metaphors on me. I feel hollow. I felt compassion. I feel great waves of sadness.
There are so many more experiences I wanted to share with my brother. Even when I am eating I am thinking he will never taste what I am tasting. He won't ever watch what I am watching. It is all gone.
Being in London it sometimes feels unreal. Like he is still in Utah. How could he not still be in Utah. In his room.
We swapped clothes last Christmas. I have a pair of his jeans and he has my jacket. He was so excited to go out eat sushi together in Salt Lake. And his whiteboard had the date of my arrival and "brother coming."
I am all mixed up. Anger is surfacing. Anger at no one and nothing. Just anger at how he is gone and there is nothing any of us can do.
He was full of so much energy as a kid. Running up and down the hallways for hours in Milton Keynes. He was 2 and I was 12. Always polite and gentle and sensitive to everything around him.
He was a skater in his teenage years and from what others have told me the life of the party. He didn't fear much. A real dare devil.
My cousin Grant told me how when he visited he went with Aaron to Las Vegas and California. He said they were in a elevator in Las Vegas and Aaron had the idea to stand on their head while the elevator went down. When the door opened an Elvis appeared and they told him (while standing on their heads) this elevator was going up. The elvis said sorry sorry and didn't get in. They rolled on the ground laughing about it.
He was full of life and energy and humour.
I missed so many years. I wanted to catch up. There is no catching up.
My uncle in Portadown put this up yesterday: