To My Brother
Four years after Kevin's death, a letter from a younger brother who became older.
You died on August 16, 2012, which means I’m older than you now, but you’ll always be my big brother.
I was driving my rusted ‘89 Ford F-250 back to work at the payday loan store when my wife called me and said, “Kevin is Dead.” The rest of that month the rains came, endlessly falling from the sky like tears from my eyes. At first, I lost the will to live, and I wanted to sleep with you. I eventually stopped drinking so much and realized I needed to stop waiting for my life to begin.
You taught me to do the right thing when you kept me from going in the bushes next to the freeway to smoke weed with your friends in middle school.
You protected me from the kids that beat me up on the school bus when we lived in Vegas. I think you lived by the rule that only you could hurt me. You’ll never know the pain I feel every day.
You taught me I could write, but you didn’t live to see me become a writer. My writing was terrible when I wrote for your website, but I found my voice. I kept working on it. Words make my feel close to you.
It hurts that my life has gotten better. Everything seemed to fall in place after I lost you. I think there might even be a few people that respect me – weird, I know. It feels like I’ve got everyone fooled.
It’s been four years. The pain comes in waves now. I’m trying to be the man you helped raise me to be. I love you, Kevin.
Originally published on Rolling Writer in 2016. Republished here in April 2026.