A friend told me tonight that I write well. I really don't believe it but it helps me. Ever since my brother died I've been on a rampage. My battles have been solely directed towards my husband. I've actually been nicer to most people than I was before. My battle is actually regarding one thing. One thing that I turn into many things. And many things that always lead to my brother's death. It's so hard trying to deal with your only sibling dying. And at such a young age. I walk through life these days trying to hold back the fear and the pain. I try not to let anyone see it. Only my true friends. I don't even allow my parents to see. I do this because I can't seem to imagine that anyone else has any concern how I feel. People ask me all the time how I'm doing. But do they really care? If I were to say "to be honest I'm doing horrible. I don't want to get out of bed." What do you think people would say? They would say see a therapist. It's true. Because they wouldn't want to deal with my pain. They don't feel it so why and how could they possibly try to imagine it. So many people were there the week of the funeral. But people seem to forget, just as I have with the many funerals that I've gone to, that someone lost somebody very close to them. A brother, a son, an uncle, a friend. After Brandon's death I would drive by a memorial on the road on my way to and from work. A girl that had died in a car accident weeks before Brandon. Every time my eye caught a glimpse of those flowers I immediatley began asking God to be with that child's family and friends. To help them to get through it. Something I had never done until I realized the pain that is felt with a loss. I hope and believe that for the rest of my life I will recognize every memorial I come across.