Broken. Hearted.

We are driving through the gorge again. The beauty of it is breathtaking. It is dusk and the clouds sit heavy in the sky, grazing the hilltops. The last light of the day reflects grey shadows across the water. The green of the trees is barely visible, fading into a sea of black sameness. In minutes it will all be dark, just the sound of raindrops against the windshield. And it seems appropriate. I am going home. Going home to bury my little brother. It is not something anyone should have to do. He is too young. Was too young. And our home is full of him. Every room, every corner, everywhere a memory. Someday those memories will be a balm to my aching. But someday is not today. And today they will remind me of my loneliness. Remind me of his face and his voice and the guilt that gnaws at my insides. If only... But it is too late for that now. Now it is time for me to be sad and angry and relieved and broken-hearted. All at the same time. Sad that my brother is gone. Sad that we will not grow old together and tell stories of our childhood and watch our children grow. Sad that his life was not full of happiness. Angry that it had to end this way, riddled with questions and confusion. Angry that I was not by his side, holding him as he took his last breath. Torn with guilt over the relief that I feel. Always wondering and worrying. Dreading the sound of the phone ringing late at night, an unknown voice on the other end. Planning what to do next. What not to do. And now that worry is gone, replaced by so many other things. Broken. Hearted.