...when a member of the pack dies...

Today, my brother died. The incident wasn't some random accident or murder. Suicide. Whatever opinion one holds on the subject has no importance. In the confusion, the occurrence of such an event leaves on in mystery, sadness, and anger. There is no point in analyzing his death but my mind repeats all the memories of his contact with me throughout the course of the day before the happening to the post.

My brother has always been troubled or, rather, seeking something with an edge to it. His personality screamed impulse. His hands took what they could. He had periods of calm where he backed off for, perhaps, a few months at a time. Such a period was rare and well-received, but always with an asterisk. An asterisk that says, "Just a second - he'll burn out any day." What the fuck? Why was he always like this? I began to get angrier by the minute. Stupid. Fucking selfish. What was so troubling to him, a person capable of achieving plentiful wealth and possessions, with a family always available, to go such a route? Fuck.

Well, my anger slowly dissipated into aggrieved acceptance. Nothing can be changed, obviously. Yet, it hurts all the more every passing moment. Somehow, one has to find the good in such a bad situation, only to validate their sadness as real, purposeful.

The good?

I named my son, only 28 days old, after my brother. In retrospect, I can take some solace in that, I suppose. I've never been in this situation before and the approach to it could be vast. In some way, he may be remembered in a new light. A future full of great hope and potential.

As this event has occurred approximately 30-45 minutes ago, perhaps more, I am short on words. What I have will have to do.

When a wolf dies, they go on a mourn hunt. When my brother died, I had no words.