Thoughts on my brother's diagnosis

the Danny I knew

My brother is my favorite person in the world. I know that's not really a fair thing to say since I have two others, one of whom is his twin, and two sisters, but Danny and I always understood each other. Of course, there were little disagreements between the two of us (we are siblings, after all), but for the most part and for the important things we were on the same page. Nobody has ever made me laugh like him. When I went away to college, he was the person I missed the most. In fact, there were a few friends that I made there that I had first been drawn to because of how they reminded me of him. I always thought of him when I spent time with them and I wished that he could meet them and we could all laugh together. He was the best of all of us. So fun and funny and good. He was helpful and mindful of others and encouraging. Always willing to lend a hand or to wait for the person at the back of the pack. He stood up for people and didn't have any patience for people who were being jerks.
We trusted each other. He was the first person I would have called if I had ever gotten into a real bind. I would have asked him to help me rob a bank or bury a body and I wouldn't have hesitated if he had asked me for help in some extreme way. That was the understanding that all of us siblings had with one another. I would trust each one of them with my very life, and I know that they all would trust me with theirs.
That was why it shook me so completely when he told me that he didn't trust me. When he made me cry and didn't care.