So I've been expecting a piece of news for the last five years or so. It's news that I assumed would roll right off my back and not affect me...at all whatsoever. It's sad news, but I was sure that I just plain wouldn't care.
I got the news today. And I'm surprisingly sad.
My older brother died. Even though he's my brother I haven't considered him a part of my family for many years. He was a horrible person and did horrible and unspeakable things to me when I was just a kid. When he was around I was in a constant state of fear. I was disgusted with myself for something that wasn't, in any way, my fault. He made a big part of my childhood something that I just don't think about. It's not something I struggle with today, I just put it behind me because I know that I didn't do anything wrong...he did. I just don't think about it.
I thought about it today though. And I still feel sad for him. I feel sad that he died and no one found him for a few days. What kind of life is that? I know that if someone couldn't reach me for a few hours they would track me down. I feel bad for him that there was no one that tracked him down.
He was 39 years old and was living with full blown AIDS for as long as I can remember, which is why I've been expecting to hear the news of his death for quite awhile. I haven't seen or spoken to him in 16 years. I had no idea where he lived. No idea what he did every day. No idea who was in his life. I didn't want to know and if he was still alive I still wouldn't want to know. He was not a good person.
But I'm sorry that he's gone. I'm sorry that his life was wasted. I'm sorry that he couldn't figure out how to be a good person because I think he could have if he tried.
