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Sunday, April 5, 2015
My brother James Peace died this week. My shoulders hurt. My eyes are sore. My heart broken. The mourning has begun and must run its course. I have tried to write something and quickly stop as my eyes floor with tears. Today is no different. I have written and spoken a lot about how great my parents were when I was a sick kid. I have also written a lot about the care I received as a kid. What I have not been so open about for reasons I cannot decipher is how my brother too cared for me. He had an innate ability to know what I wanted. Silence, a long middle of the night discussion on the meaning of life or cut rough shod over my living conditions. What he did the most though was be a humane presence. He showed up to see me at 8AM, noon, 2AM, 1PM--I typically had no idea when he would show up or how long he would stay. He knew what to bring. News papers, flowers, or a beer. What I knew and what I always looked forward to was his smile. A giant shit eating grin was often on his face. In the summer he often wore a baseball cap. This is the brother I loved. He was a good man and will be missed more than he imagined.