I posted a couple of days ago, a brief note about my brother Tim who died eight years before to that day. It was a few sentences on how still-bearded husband and I would mark the date by having fish and chips that night, together with a bottle of Champagne (it really is a brilliant, if not obvious, match) and that was about it. I hit ‘publish’, gave the baby her bottle and spent the next twenty minutes frying about the post. Too exposing, too morbid, too cheap, too much. The baby finished her bottle and I went back to the laptop and hit ‘delete’. I then felt worse.
This late post is to make it better. Tim was a life-force. He was 26 years old. I love him still.