I’ve heard your story,

It's told like a legend,

I cannot imagine you,

but I can see your shadow in my cousins' faces,

And then I wonder how it would feel.

How would it feel to hear your jokes,

Because people say you're funny,

How would it feel to be under your wings,

Because I heard you would die for the people you love,

How would it feel to have a beer with you,

Because I heard you were a good drinking buddy.

Funnier than you is how people lie,

Because now you are cold,

You don’t even have a body,

You died,

But only for yourself.

You didn’t care about the hearts you held,

And it wasn’t only yours that stopped that day,

You took away from my dad,

Who considered you his idol,

From the woman who birthed you,

Only to have you buried before her,

From the one you married,

Only to leave her stranded with two girls,

From me,

Whose only memory from you is a gravestone.

If only you’d gone to a doctor,

When your weak heart started to break,

If only you took those stupid pills,

Three times a day,

If only you’d left the alcohol,

And that poisonous smoke out of your mouth,

You would be here.

That’s your story,

That’s how it’s told from mouth to mouth,

And everyone’s so sure that if you had a care,

You could have lived,

So many chances you were given,

So many signs,

Yet you had to act rough,

When you were just broken inside.

Dad can’t talk about you,

without it seeming like he’s talking about a stranger,

there is sadness in his voice,

but the type of sadness you hear when a reporter is talking about a death,

 I see him trying not to crack,

When your name touches his ears,

because it would break him to say

how much he misses being your younger brother.

Mom has talked of you only once,

It was her last memory of you,

You were opening the gate,

Looking sick,

Falling on the stairs,

Everyone rushing to help you,

Finally reaching the top stairs,

Finally reaching your daughter,

Then you looked at my mom,

And you smiled,

Like you knew you were going to die,

And you knew that the kiss you were about to give your daughter,

It was the last.

What I hate most about you,

Is that I don’t know you,

I’ve never laughed at one of your jokes like the rest of the town has,

I don’t know how your voice sounds,

I don’t know your smile,

And I hate that I feel loss when you come to mind,

Because how can you feel loss for something you didn’t have?

When I was younger,

My mom would always tell us,

How you were in the sky,

How you were watching us,

How I really hope you are there,

Because I want you to know that I don’t forgive you,

And I never will,

Because hate is the only string tying me to you.