We are loading up an episode of Girls and eating homemade spaghetti when I burst into tears unexpectedly.
I cry soundlessly at first, tears slipping down my cheek, past my chin and into my bowl. But then, suddenly, I am sobbing loudly, grossly. My shoulders tremoring, my fingers pinching my eyes to make them stop.
The television is dead frozen on the title screen.
By the time my husband takes the spaghetti bowl from my hand and lifts me from my chair, into his arms, I am heaving guttering breaths, vulgar sounds from my chest.
I did not know a person could make these sounds.
Until my brother died and I made those sounds.
It wasn't just the reappearance of the memory of his death, just two years ago, that made me cry so suddenly. It was an unexpected, accidental inhalation of his cigarette in the upholstered arm of his chair as I sat down.
His chair, that is mine now.
READ MORE:http://www.huffingtonpost.com/nicole-jankowski/litte-brothers-arent-supposed-to-die_b_6305234.html
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