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It's been almost 18 years now since my younger brother Chris past away.
He was only 16 years old, and he died the day after my 18th birthday.
18 years is a long time,if it was a friend or relative ,I would have figured 18 years is definitely enough time for a person to get over the death of a loved one.
I don't think I'll ever get over it.

I still miss him so much,I think about him everyday.
From my earliest memory,my brother Chris was there.
Chris and I had a younger brother,Rudy.He was 13 years old when Chris died.
As kids,all three of us would fight.
Of course,since Rudy was the baby of the family,I would team up with Rudy.
As teens,it was Chris and I against Rudy.
We didn't have a father around,so as Chris became older,he was the man of the house,which meant he was so protective over me even though I was older than him.
One evening Chris was going to go hang out with his two best friends,Ralph and Henry.
Even though he was just going to be a few blocks away, I didn't want him to leave with them.
He had been at a relatives house for two weeks,and I missed him.
I asked him not to leave,he said "I'll be back in a little while".
I started to cry and I put my arms around him.
For some reason I knew he wasn't coming back.
Chris laughed,put his arm around my head ,acting like he was putting me in a headlock,and then he gave me a quick kiss on my forehead and said "I'll be back".
That was the last time my brother was ever home.
Chris had gotten stabbed later on that evening.
He was not a gang member,he was not a trouble maker,he was always in a good mood.
He had a lot of friends.
When he would see someone who he knew getting in a fight,he would always try to talk them out of it.
Even as a little boy,he was always trying to make me feel like everything wasn't so bad,when it was.
My mom, has always been a drug addict,a hardcore drug addict all of our lives,
so she put us kids through things that she alone couldn't even deal with.
The good thing about my mom not taking care of us,was that it made us three kids strong enough to take care of ourselves.
My brother didn't die from the stab wound,well at least not that night.
At the hospital,I felt like my soul was being ripped out of my body,over and over and over again.
I couldn't understand what was happening.
One minute everything is fine and the next thing you know,your world is spinning out of control and falling apart.
My daughter,who was a little over a year

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