Why does God allow some people to suffer for months, years, or decades and take others so quickly? I’m really struggling with this as I wish I just had five minutes to say goodbye. Just five minutes would have been enough to say the things I need to say.

What would I say in those five minutes? What I struggled to say those final moments when I wasn’t even sure if you would hear…the words I could barely get out over my tears…I love you brother…

You were special to me. When you were born, I was disappointed because you weren’t a sister. I was still fascinated by you. Dad was so proud to have a boy.

You would later claim I would pull on your eyelashes while I was holding you. Really, I was just curious and amazed at the little package.

You always kept us entertained. You kept us laughing. You were kind and caring. Your nieces and nephews loved you. You remembered everything. (I want to hold onto every single precious memory but I don’t have nearly as good of a memory as you.)

You were so worried about having to deal with grandpa’s death that you didn’t even consider your own.

Yes, you annoyed me. That’s what little brothers do. But I love thinking about every minute of it and wish I could have that back.

Tonight, mom sent me a text and wondered if I had the “infamous” International Harvester video. I was so happy I found it in an old photobucket account.

I can’t promise to be happy about everything. This doesn’t feel right. It isn’t right. It’s unfair. A life cut way too short.

Last night after we got settled into our bed after a high school basketball game, my dad called. Instantly it felt weird because he had called right after we had seen them at the ball game. I didn’t want to believe what he was telling me and blacked everything out after his first two sentences. Screaming. No, no, no. You are lying. Anything but this.

My brother, who is just 28, was in full cardiac arrest. My dad said it didn’t look good and prepare myself for the worst. The paramedics were there and he was going to the hospital. Everything after that feels like it happened to someone else. I’m just a person in a shell.

We raced to the hospital which is only 10 minutes away but it felt like the longest 10 minutes ever. We arrived at the hospital before the him which didn’t feel right.

My aunt and cousin were already at the hospital. A friend had seen the paramedics at my parents house. Things do travel fast in a small town. It is good to have all the support you can.

Finally, he arrived at the hospital. There was nothing we could do but wait. Slowly, family members trickled in.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Finally, my parents were able to go back and talk to the doctor. Not good, they were having problems keeping stabilized but he was going to go via life line to Methodist. Father Kinnamon arranged for a few of the rest of us to see him off before he went on the helicopter ride.

It was painful waiting for them to wheel him out. Finally, they did. I eeked out an I love you Billie. He looked horrible. I didn’t have any hope. Except they were life lining him….there had to be hope right?

During the one hour drive that felt like two hours, I convinced myself that we would get to Indianapolis and he would be fine. Then I was going to kick his butt for freaking us out like a good big sister would.

Not a chance.

I knew as soon as they ushered us into the room that my family knows too well over the past years that it wasn’t good news. Not good news when the doctor’s come out with the chaplain and the social worker.

The doctor starts by saying tell us what you know about what happened to him. I am screaming in my head “TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW *&%#&##.” But I didn’t want to know because I knew what he was going to tell us and I wasn’t going to like it.

Crying. Wanting to scream. Wanting to punch, kick, or hurt something. Crying.

Hugs. Prayers. Crying.

Trying to be strong for my parents.

My youngest brother, who is just eleven years old, witnessed everything. My mom had to give CPR to her own son just minutes after calling 9-11. He was breathing when they got home. Then he stopped breathing after they called 9-11.

It doesn’t feel real. This isn’t happening to him. He is only 28 years old. He was a loving and kind brother, uncle, and son. He loved his nieces and nephews and especially his girl Sofia. They had become really close over the past couple of weeks. He was a big teddy bear. He came to my office everday when he got off work and sometimes I was annoyed with him and mean….but mostly we laughed and joked with each other.

I can’t be going to plan my own brother’s funeral today.

He looked so peaceful. Rest in Peace Baby Brother.