I've been thinking about my brother, Roger, for the past few days. My two sisters and I only have half brothers. My father has 4 sons with his second wife and my mother had Roger around the same time she and my father divorced. Roger died at age 31 and the day of his funeral was the last time I've spoken more than a few words to my father. Parts of my life read like the script of a soap opera but the short and sweet of it is that Roger was not one of my father's sons.
I was so angry with my mother when my brother died because I knew that he'd lived his short life never knowing who his father was.
I loved my brother.