I did not know where to post this, they don't have a category for something like this.
I am thinking about my brother, he was murdered 30 years ago this December. I am thinking about how he never had the chance to meet his four nieces and how he would have loved and cared for them. I am thinking about how his murder tore the family apart, everyone went their separate ways. I am thinking about breaking down and crying. I am thinking about how he must of felt when that fucking punk pulled out the razor and slit his throat. I am thinking about how far he drove with his throat cut. I am thinking about my father, and how he grabbed a gun and said, I might not get the one that did it, but I don't care, at least I will get some of them. I am thinking about the call that I got on that Sunday morning, telling me that my baby brother was dying and that I need to get to the hospital. I am thinking about how he died just a few minutes before I got there. About how my baby sister and I sat in the room with him, sat in the room and watched all of the color run from his face as he turned purple, how the hospital kept checking to see if we had left. I am thinking about his funeral and how I was one of the pallbearers and when they opened the back of the hearse, I turned around to walk away, about how my cousin grabbed me and held me until I was o.k. to carry my brother into the church. About how people kept coming up to me and telling me that "he was in a better place" and I just kept saying, he's not in a better place, you will never see your nephew again, you will never see your cousin again, you will never see your friend again, how is being dead, being in a better place?Just thinking, and it's breaking my heart.