Sounds like the title for a junior high essay, doesn't it? Wish it was. 31 years ago today, got a quick and brutal lesson about Remembrance Day. My brother was killed on that day. He was 17.
He wasn't in a war, but he's dead. And I miss him.
I couldn't even stand to wear the poppy for a long time. For me, it represented his death, and the slow, horrible implosion of my family. We are mostly all right now -- actually we are better than that -- but my God, my God, that was a long journey. I wear the poppy now, though. Because we all came out the other side, more or less intact.
But I still miss you, Bro. More than I can say.
