His name jumps out of the screen at me the moment my husband walks into the room.
He sees what I see…
“I know,” he says. “I was just coming to tell you.”
My head falls into my hand for a moment as the familiar pain of loss washes over me.
Another one bites the dust, I think, as the names of all the others parade through my head to the beat.
I read the comments…the shock and the sincerely felt words tossed at a screen that condenses those feelings into meaningless letters spelling RIP and MISS YOU and BROTHER even though most of the people writing it feel as I do…
almost guilty for being alive…
almost sorry to have made it through hell…
almost regretting that my life choices made it impossible for me to be there for the ones I left behind even as my heart wished it could have convinced each and every one of the people I met on my journey through torment that it would get better, knowing full well that my brain disagreed.
He wasn’t my brother…not since I left the streets we roamed together…
But when I see his name…I feel a shooting pain…
And another door I’ve been holding hope for…
is lowered to the ground.
Colloquially Speaking 