My Brother's Not Coming Home

January 28th Part One

It's always hard losing someone you love, especially if that someone is very young.  I would hate to portray my loss as harder than others, but in some ways it is.  My brother and I were on a hike near our house on the day that he died.  Maybe it would be easier if I could have some closure about what happened, but even though I was standing next to him at the time, it's still hard to comprehend how the accident happened.  

It was a strangely nice day, for January in Wisconsin.  It was about 43 degrees out, but there was enough snow out that there was no way it could all melt in one day.  Everything looked absolutely magical and the temperature was actually bearable for once. 

"It's a great day for a hike, Henry."  I hinted looking out the passenger-side window of our 2010 Ford Focus, mesmerized at how the sun glittered off the snow in our neighborhood.  The car had been a hand-me-down from our older cousin; it was pretty beat up, but it was still ours.  Having our own car meant all the freedom we could ask for, and we never minded sharing it.  Being twins, Henry and I shared everything, we even hung out with the same people.  

"For sure," he replied, turning down the sound of Alice Cooper blaring through our crappy speakers.  "We can go after we get home."  Half a song later, we pulled into the far end of our garage, and hopped out of the car.  I followed him inside, pressing the button to shut the garage door on my way in.  As we walked in the door, we were greeted by our very excited Pomeranian, Cookie.  We got her for our 12th birthday, and our 18th birthday is next week, so she's about 6 years old.  Our birthday was always my favorite time of year, except this time will be my first birthday alone and I won't feel like celebrating.  

I ran upstairs while Henry played a quite game of tug-of-war with Cookie.  I quickly assembled a hiking outfit, consisting of a flannel, vest, jeans, and boots.  

"Do you want your tea to-go?" Henry shouted from downstairs.  He never had to change for hikes because his hiking clothes were permanently glued to his body.  

"Yeah." I responded, tying the laces for my last boot, before heading downstairs.

"Our hike can't last too long because it gets dark at 4:30 tonight," Henry said, pouring tea from the kettle, into two thermoses.  

"Okie dokie," I respond, grabbing three granola bars from the pantry.  "Should we bring Cookie with us?"  I asked as I handed him two of the bars.

"Nah, we can just walk her after dinner."  He tore open one bar, and shoved the other into the pocket of his North Face.  

Henry grabbed his baseball cap from where he left it on the kitchen table, and we left, locking the front door behind us.  Our usual hiking trail wasn't far from where we lived so we just walked.  

The hike started off fine.  The trail is narrow, so Henry walked ahead of me as I chattered on about everything.  I've always been such a chatter-box, while Henry was quieter and great at listening.  It's only now that I regret never saying anything important while Henry was alive.  It's only now that I finally don't feel like talking anymore, but feel like I must tell my story to someone, so I've written it down here.