The odd celebrity that befell us offered me some release at first. Everyone knew about the "It". The "Death". It was simple to farm out the pain to people lighting candles and crying on TV on our behalf.

But as time goes on, the initial shock fades away and you are left detatched and saturated in grief. The building pressure of despair made me want to bleed it out all over. To write my brother's name on every square inch of my life. To talk incessantly about the "It" as if to incongruently reassure myself that I mattered to him.