Tonight I found out that my childhood friend’s little brother died. Apparently he’s been missing for a few weeks and was found dead. His body has been decaying for 3 weeks before the police found him. My friend and her parents had to go and identify him tonight.
The little kid I remember is an annoying and sweet child of about 8 who used to always want to hang out with my friend and I when we were kids. We’d play our Gameboys, hang out when I came over for sleep overs, and go hunting for lizards…because he loved lizards. I don’t know what the hell happened to the sweet kid I used to know, but apparently he hasn’t had an easy life.
I’m going to his wake on Wednesday. This will be the first time I’ve seen my friend or her family in over 6 years and this is the reason I see them? Shit.
On my emotional front, I can’t stop crying. My legs won’t stop shaking either. This is exactly what my body did the night Brandon died, while I sat there just waiting for them to tell me something.
I wonder if death will always affect me much stronger after experiencing Brandon’s death.
I want to write but I have no words.