Thank you for sharing. I read this a while back and it still hits me just as hard. My brother passed away nearly 6 years ago and left under similar circumstances to the author's father. He also left a tattered, and similarly-chaotic journal.
I was really torn about reading it at first, but he was the type of person who wanted to go ahead of the pack and clear the path for others. His journal was the last way for him to do that.
He was older than me and, reading it years after his death, it's shocking to see the differences between our lives at the same ages. He always seemed older and wiser, but now -- having just turned the age he was when he died -- I realize why he felt so lost and lonely. Being an adult in your mid-twenties is difficult. I have it easy, and I'm having a hard time. Throw in years of battling addiction and no college education, and you can't help but feel the entire world is against you.
Losing an older sibling is a strange experience. The longer you go without them, the smaller the age gap between you becomes. Eventually, you're older than they will ever be -- I haven't reached that point yet but just thinking about it puts a lump in my throat.
I've considered publishing bits and pieces of his story on a blog, or in a book, someday. Anything that could help people in his (or my) situation feel less alone. Although, I don't think it would be much help considering his story ended.
Not sure why I posted this comment. There's not much substance here other than evidence of another touched soul.
Unfortunately when she died of cancer, she was in complete denial. Right to the bitter end it was "I'll get better". She refused to write down anything, or records little videos for her newborn to have when he was older. It felt like communicating "from beyond the grave", as it were, and she just couldn't do it. It was an admission of her impending death. She just wanted to raise him and one day tell him about her fight with cancer.
This same thing holds true for parents, especially when they die young. I'm relatively close to the age at which my dad died and I somehow find it really hard to imagine life past that point. Of course it isn't rational, but that doesn't take away that weird feeling.
I was really torn about reading it at first, but he was the type of person who wanted to go ahead of the pack and clear the path for others. His journal was the last way for him to do that.
He was older than me and, reading it years after his death, it's shocking to see the differences between our lives at the same ages. He always seemed older and wiser, but now -- having just turned the age he was when he died -- I realize why he felt so lost and lonely. Being an adult in your mid-twenties is difficult. I have it easy, and I'm having a hard time. Throw in years of battling addiction and no college education, and you can't help but feel the entire world is against you.
Losing an older sibling is a strange experience. The longer you go without them, the smaller the age gap between you becomes. Eventually, you're older than they will ever be -- I haven't reached that point yet but just thinking about it puts a lump in my throat.
I've considered publishing bits and pieces of his story on a blog, or in a book, someday. Anything that could help people in his (or my) situation feel less alone. Although, I don't think it would be much help considering his story ended.
Not sure why I posted this comment. There's not much substance here other than evidence of another touched soul.