My older brother Keith died of AIDS in 1989.  He was two years older than me. He was addicted to drugs, heroin I think.

The images of him slowly passing away as his body shriveled is still in here.

All of us were too confused to really do anything.

Not sure why I rarely speak of him anymore…but I don’t. Is it too busy living or is it too busy running away from all of it?

I miss him.

I baked him a chocolate cake on his last 30th birthday. This was about 10 days before he died.

Sometimes when I see snow I think of him, because on the day before he passed he asked the nurse at the hospice if he could be wheeled out in his bed to see the snow.