It was eighteen minutes past six when you arrived. A crisp morning at the end of winter.
You didn't arrive kicking and screaming. It was quiet chaos. In hushed urgency the doctors and nurses resuscitated you. You made it. Then. In the end there was no chaos, just a quiet ending.
I miss you everyday, but especially today. I have to try not to think too much about the 'ifs and buts'. Lord knows I've fought hard to hang onto the last few shreds of sanity I still have, but sometimes, like unpleasant, unexpected guests, they do arrive and then I wonder - what if you were still alive? Where would you be in your life? And I wonder, what if you were here now.... I have to stop myself.
I talk to you. All the time. I remind you that you're still the eldest and need to keep an eye out for your brothers. I know you hear me.
I love you.