Hey bro.  I miss you.  I'm listening to the album you had on your turntable the day of the accident.   It's beautiful. 

I've been feeling this building up of something inside of me for weeks now.  I've been edgy and unable to focus.  It's this grand sadness, this unbelievable, unimaginable sadness.  People say to think about and remember the fun times we had together.  But I'm not there yet. Oh some things pop in here and there.  But mostly, I'm in tears. I'm struggling with finding gratitude and appreciation for things.  Funny huh?  I was always the one reminding you of the beauty in the simple things and keeping positive when things seemed hopeless.   What has struck so hard these past few weeks is the realization that I won't have you to share our family memories with in years to come.  You won't be here.  Mom won't be here. Cathy won't be here.   Certainly, Dad won't be here for long.    It was supposed to be us.   Oh, bro.  I am so sorry and so sad that you didn't get to do some of the things you were dreaming of.  When I think about that, it's hard for me to breathe. 

Lately, I've been waking up in the middle of the night or early morning or whenever it is, and I felt like you were there in my dreams.  I haven't seen you in my dreams but that one time, but I feel you.   I sense you're there.  It would be wonderful to see you again. 

I've had to make some difficult decisions and I hope that you're OK with them.  I'm doing my best to honor you. 

Even though your ashes sit on our shelf here in Denver, I can't help but feel that you're just away, on vacation, and you'll be back and I'll get to see that grin of yours.  I miss you my brother, my friend.  With love and tears, your sis.