It's been over a month since I found my brother's body. I've watched my father age before my eyes. And have felt my brother's presence on two occasions. And have had a really hard time explaining how hard it has been on me to lose someone I hadn't talked to in a couple years, but have no regrets over the not talking part.

Mike was the only person who understood me completely, inside and out. And I understood him. And that was uncomfortable for him. We both could push each others buttons and it was much easier to just not be at the same places at the same time than it was to walk on the eggshells that were the Kim/Mike relationship.

I'm sad that he died alone. I'm mad that the police, after learning that we hadn't spoken for years, didn't take me seriously when I went to his apartment to check on him and wanted them to kick the door in. The next morning it was easier to see inside his bedroom from the window and I could clearly see that my brother was in there and was dead. It wouldn't have changed anything to find him the day before except give my dad one less night of worry. Of course, there would have been one more night of sorrow.

So it is what it is.

My brother was adamant that he wanted to be cremated. He was rather tall (7' 1") and had heard that they break legs of tall people to fit them into caskets. He did NOT want that for himself! And he wanted his ashes spread at Dead Horse Point State Park.

 

Beautiful place. We will be doing this the day before Thanksgiving this year. It will make the holiday that much more poignant. And it gives me a road trip with Vincent.