art school

I was just reminded about a time at set school where a manboy - I reckon he was about 19, tried to correct me for talking about my brother in the to past tense. 

I matter of factly told him I wasn't wrong that my brother was dead. He huffed through his embarrassment. 

I still find myself tearing up when I tell people sometimes, it's no longer such a strange thing for people, I know look old enough to have experienced such grief. It was a brutal grief and one that had that extra layer of pain for us all, me! Was I next? 

Not yet. 

How was I ever supposed to deal with life in that year? I did well.