Yesterday I spent two hours wailing into my pillow.

He's gone, but I can't let him go.

I've been told by many people I need to be not dwelling on his death.

I can't help it. He was a wonderful kid. Yes, everyone says that, but even his bad points made him endearing, to me.

He was smart -- smarter than he let on, because he didn't want people to expect more out of him. Which leads to another point... he was lazy. Hokey smokes, but this kid was so lazy it was a battle to get him to go to school. Not because he didn't want to be at school, where he actually enjoyed it, but because he had to walk to school (all of 100 yards). The schoolwork wasn't hard for him and his friends were there, and he could always con his buddies into doing all the little fetch-work for him. This is where his laziness became endearing. He would think of the most ridiculous ways to get out of doing anything, it was hilarious.

I loved my little brother, and I broke a promise to him. A promise that I made when he was only three months old.

You see, he spent the first three months he was alive in intensive care due to seizures. So, when they were finally able to bring him home, he was already three months old.

He burbled in response.

I left for college when he was only two and a half. I didn't see him much other than family holidays until 2002, when he was 11. My apartment was on the way home from school for him, so he'd stop and do his homework there, since I would (and could) help him, and our parents really couldn't. I was only about two blocks ( in the rural areas of southwest Missouri, two blocks is NOT a quarter mile... more like... 150 yards ) from our parents place, so they didn't mind.

One night he liked my dinner better than what Mom and Dad had planned, so stayed and I fixed him up a plate (mmmm stuffed bell peppers). We were talking. A lot of it centered on the issues I've had, the transgender bits, the intersex bit, and that it really didn't matter to him.

"You know, Mike," I said, careful not to call him by the dreaded 'Mikey' anymore -- to do so was to arouse his ire -- and continued when he looked up from his plate, "I made a promise to you when you were first home, that I would always protect you. You don't need to be afraid of anyone hurting you. Whether that's physical, or emotional. I'm always gonna be here for you, even if I'm not... well, here here. You know?"

He chewed on his dinner and ruminated and then grinned and asked, "So if I need you, you'll figure out a way to teleport to me or something, right?"

We both laughed and I messed up his carefully tousled hair. Okay, it made him scowl at me, but the boy had a cute scowl.

In 2006 was my next time of spending any time with him, after Dad died. He was so angry. Dad was his best friend. The two of them made Andy and Opie Taylor seem dysfunctional. But he also knew that it was no one's fault and that did only one thing... made him angrier. Over that year, from April of 2006 to April of 2007, he took a lot of his pain out on me. And while I didn't like it, I took it and would rant about it later. He needed the outlet.

And now... And now he's gone.

Let me tell you about the man my little brother was becoming.

He was kind. He would randomly help the elderly neighbors carry their groceries in, despite being lazy because it needed done.

He was lazy. But it was in that self-effacing way that showed that yes, he realized it was a character flaw, and he'd make fun of himself for it.

He was open. He would let you know how he felt, and didn't mind showing his emotions like most boys his age.

He was selfish. He was sixteen. I mean, c'mon. 'Nuff said.

He was intelligent. He realized that he had to actually start doing his schoolwork or he'd be stuck in our home town.

He was overweight. But he was slowly working on it and he had quite a lot of muscle mass. I think he was beginning to listen to my advice on eating healthy and getting exercise.

He was caring. He attended not one, but two churches in the area, not just because he believed in his God, but because it gave him more opportunity to help people.

He had questionable taste. He loved wrestling and would get into the plots and the show like you wouldn't believe.

He was accepting. Despite most of the area's inhabitants harboring intense bigotry, his four best friends were two Mexican kids his age and the two suspected gay boys in his class. If you asked him why, his answer was, "They're fun. No one else will talk to them long enough to figure that out. It's not like they wanna date me."

He was a slob. In some ways. He'd take 2-3 showers a day if he was allowed to, though, and had to have clean clothes... but his room, the way he dressed, and even his eating habits left, ah, something to be desired.

He was my baby brother. He was alright with me being me around him. He called me by the female derivative of my original name before I changed it to Edeyn, and was attempting to get used to Edeyn. At least one time he introduced me to a friend as his, "big sister, Edeyn," and grinned at me.

I believe he was growing into the kind of man that anyone would have been proud to know.

I know I was proud to know him.

I miss him so much.

I have typed most of this blind, due to tears blurring my vision, so please excuse any typos.

I love my baby brother, and will always carry him with me.

Tomorrow is seven weeks since I last saw him, lying there in the hospital, and seven weeks since I left him, and seven weeks since he died.

Tomorrow is Hallowe'en and his favorite holiday of the year. Tomorrow during the day, I will find a park nearby and I will sit and I will cry and I will think of all the good things about my brother since I will only be about 100 miles from my hometown. Tomorrow night, I will help my roommate hand out candy to the neighborhood kids, and I will still be thinking of him.

Tomorrow, I will be closest to him I've been since he died.

In any case...