My older brother, Keith, would have been 51 years old today, if he’d made it this far.
He died exactly two months ago, on Feb. 21. I got the news in a motel room in Minot, N.D., and my emotions splayed out in all directions. Sadness, certainly, for the all-too-short life of someone in my family. Heartbreak for his father, my stepfather, whose voice was one of the last Keith heard before he died in a Texas emergency room. Heartbreak, too, for Keith’s mother, the closest person in the world to him, someone who was also there that night and the one who most feels his absence every moment of every day. I felt desperate to contact our younger sister and brother and tell them I love them, the kind of urgency that’s clarified when someone else you love is gone and you realize, shit, I can’t remember the last time I told him so. Continue Reading →