Anniversary of a murder

Today, 24 years ago, my brother was murdered. I can remember that for years and years I started dreading February 5th in December at the latest. Every time of the year was measured by when Lewie died. He was the middle boy, 11 years younger than me. Two years older than Mr. Addict; two years younger than Andy. Andy is dead now, too. From a combination of physical disease and addiction. He had scleroderma since he was a child, then developed type one (juvenile) diabetes in his 20's. No one expected Andy to live to be an adult, but he died in December 2000, just after his 42nd birthday. He died at the house in Mom's arms.

Lewie died in Andy's arms at the age of 22. No one expected him to die. He was the bright shining star of the boys in the family. But he was stabbed through the heart. Mom and Dad never got over it. Neither did Andy. His addiction took off at a full run then. So did mine, but I hit my own personal brick wall three years later and staggered into the rooms of recovery. Unfortunately, neither Dad nor Andy sought any help and their grief ate them up inside.

My mother and I were involved in Parents of Murdered Children for some years after Lewie's death. It helped a little.

Even after all these years, I think "what a waste; what a loss." Lewie was so smart, creative, innovative, kind hearted. He could fix anything and he would have been in 7th heaven with computers!! Maybe he's in 7th heaven now anyway. Maybe they've got computers in heaven.

I flew out to Texas when it happened. To help Andy bring Lewie back home. I saw Lewie's body - after autopsy - on a gurney in the hall at the medical examiner's. I needed to see his body and say goodbye, but the sight haunted me for a long, long time. We had him cremated and I held his warm ashes on my lap on the plane home.

I don't have a candle here at work to light. I forgot, can you believe that? The candle, not the anniversary. I used to call Mom on this day and just let her know I remembered. Maybe I'll call my sister. There's not very many people left who remember Lewie. My children were very young when it happened. My wife, of course, never knew him. Dad, Mom, and Andy are gone too. There's just sister, Mr. Addict, and myself. Someday there won't be anyone left that remembers me, either. What a strange thought.

If we're forgotten, does it mean we really didn't exist? Is that just the end of us? I don't THINK that can be right, but what the hell do I know, really?

Lewie, I love you and still miss you. You'd be happy for me if you were still here. You didn't like my using drugs. I choose to think that he knows, and IS happy for me, even now. But, still, I wish he'd stayed and our lives hadn't been utterly torn apart at about 8pm on that Saturday evening, February 5, 1983.