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Rob - The meaning behind family.

This is a story I wrote that is true and I had it published in my school magazine.

I woke up to the sound of music as I do every morning when I have school. It was March 23, 2007 and it was a Friday. Fridays were gods to me because it was the last day in a school week. I have the same thoughts every morning.

“What day is it? Do I have to do anything today? What’s going on today?”

Well to say sadly I got my answer to the last one as the phone rang. I can remember that day like it was yesterday. That phone call was the worst call ever.

“HE’S DEAD! HE’S DEAD!”

I listened intently. I knew who it was; it was my brother’s best friend Rob. I don’t call him my brother’s best friend, I call him my brother. He was part of the family even though he had no family that cared about him except his gram.

“What, what did he do this time?”
“He’s dead…”
“He finally succeeded didn’t he?”

I got dressed, went to the bathroom and did what ever I had to do as I do every morning. I went downstairs did what I had to do. At this point nothing really came to me as a thought that he was dead. Nothing happened until I came upstairs for something. I saw my 21-year-old brother standing there crying while my mom had her arms out rubbing his back and trying to comfort him in anyway.

“He always had to be selfish and now he really did it. He was always selfish…”

Then it hit me. I can’t say that I started to cry but every emotion drained from me. My mother came down to drive me to school and my brother went out the door. My mom was up to the school.

“You can take the day off of school.”
“I’ll be fine…”

As I walked away from the car, I started to cry. It was like a train coming at you car faster than it can go and just crashing straight into you like a T-bone. I walked silently down the hallway with tears in my eyes. I just stood there like I did every morning trying not to get people to notice I was crying. Nobody ever saw me cry and I planned on not having people see me cry. Then my friend came up to me.

“Are you alright?”
“No…” I said crying, “right now I can’t talk.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just don’t say anything.”

The bell rang and I walked to homeroom and the crying subsided a little. I got my stuff around and nobody usually talks to me in the morning. I silently went into homeroom and my homeroom teacher always asks me his regular questions.

“How are you today?”
“My brother’s best friend is dead,” I said trying to hold back the tears but it came right at me and made me cry again.
“You want to go to the guidance office?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” I cried loudly this time.
“Come on you're going down to the guidance office.”

I put up a little bit of a fight but finally went down to the office. As usual guidance asked me questions but it was no good. It did calm me down. I went through the day so somber but I wouldn’t let anyone see it. I hoped that he wasn’t dead. I hoped that he didn’t succeed. The events after it were torturing. It was the thought if you still had a brother or someone went and shot him in cold blood. It’s not like he shot himself but it felt like it to me.

The days after were like a fog to me but the funeral I will never forget. His real sister, who didn’t even really know him, said things as if she was his sister. I knew in my heart then that she wasn’t at all his sister. She was just someone who thought she was part of his life. She was wrong because I was his sister even if it wasn’t blood relation.

As soon as she started reading her fake letter I started to burst into tears. My whole family did. I don’t care what his blood family told us. We WERE his family. My brother couldn’t hold back which made me cry even more. I knew in my heart nothing would change from this day forward.

I brushed his cold lifeless hand as I passed his coffin. I just wanted him to get up and start laughing. I just wanted to see him come to color again but it was too late. I couldn’t give him that hug he deserved. I couldn't tell him I loved him like a brother. All I could do was just stare at that body. My brother got up and was getting ready to carry him out. Being one of the people who were so somber to carry him out killed him inside. As everyone finally said a sad good bye to his remains I grabbed a flower from on top of his coffin and took it home and made it last forever in between wax paper.

Now two years later I sit here reflecting on what was and always will be. All I have left to stare at is a big rock coming out of the ground and a flower that once touched the coffin of his cold lifeless body. I remember all the good times he acted like my brother. All the good years I had with him.

Nothing will ever be the same because I lost a brother that day. Now all I have are the memories of the brother I always had and never knew.

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