It's 1:30 in the morning and I can't sleep. I lost my brother John on June 9, 2019 and some nights the tears just won't stop. And the memories, how they hurt. I remember seeing you in the funeral home and kissing you good bye and you were so cold, you hated being cold and I can't forget. We'd go over to your home this past winter and you'd be sitting on your couch wrapped up in an afghan that mom had knitted for you many years ago. I now have that afghan in my home put away for safe keeping, I don't remember who but I told someone the other day that I just want one day where I don't cry at least once. I've lost Dad, Mom and Judy but this is harder, maybe because I'm more involved than I was with theirs. I found a card that you had kept that Doug and I sent you thanking you for handling everything concerning Dad's passing. I wrote how you had made it stress less for us. I'm now understanding some of what you went through. I've heard people say that their hearts hurt and I never understood but I do now. The day I picked your ashes up at the funeral home I felt such pressure in my chest that all I could do was scream and try to ease it as I drove along the freeway. If anyone driving along would have looked in the car they would have seem a mad woman clutching the steering wheel, screaming. You died alone, I wasn't there with you holding your hand, I should have been there, you were suppose to wait for me. A week from today we'll place your and Judy's ashes with mom and dad in the flower bed, I wish I believed in God and that the four of you are together looking down on us, but I don't, all I know is that you are gone and I miss you so much. And someday I want to stop crying.