I never thought I’d make it six minutes after my brother’s death, let alone six years. But, here I am. Still standing.
I put on my father’s old leather boots, grab my walking stick, and head up the mountain…
By the time I get to the top, I begin to remember the life well-lived instead of only the death that swept me up in its furious agony.
And although I can’t explain it, my heart finds a moment of peace in remembering a day I’d rather forget.
for those who weep 