The story of my life begins with my brother’s death. His name was John, and he was five years old when he died in 1985. He caught measles, which developed into something more aggressive, something that the doctors didn’t catch in time. His kidneys stopped working first, then his liver, and then everything else. Within the space of a week John went from healthy and happy to depending on a machine. His brain shut down, and then the machine was shut off. The loss of John is a moment in my family’s life that I didn’t experience, so it distances me from them. But that loss is also the event that caused my own existence, because I was born to replace him.
Read my latest piece for the Bygone Bureau. Warning: it’s pretty sad.
This is the best. Avery is the best.