Congratulations. You have clicked on the link and are now reading my story. How odd that such a title drew you in. Sometimes reading about the suffering of other is interesting, just as we cannot help from looking at an accident on the high way. If you had been driving by George St in Bristol Connecticut on March 5 2009, you’d probably be trying to look away from the accident that killed my brother, with no such success I’m assuming, it was quite a scene I’m sure.

Now, to the man who killed my brother:

First, you have not ruined my life. On the contrary, you are my life. I live and breathe you. I taste you. I hear you. I see you. I feel you. You are everywhere. You are everything. You are every feeling I feel.

On March 5 2009 you started ruling my life. When you picked up that bottle or can, you took the control from my hands. As you swallowed each sip, you tightened the slack. As you climbed into your car and headed for the liquor store, you pulled me tighter. As you drunkenly slammed your cash or card on the counter and picked up your brown paper bag, you pulled on the slack some more. When you smashed into my brother, there was no more room to pull, no room to run, you hold me tightly, no slack.

I guess the mere disrupt of your route from the liqour store to home, my brother, caused the instinct for you to stop. Briefly your car stopped ahead of where he lay lifeless on the ground. You even bothered to turn your head, to see my brother’s friend wave for you to come help. What made you drive away? The consequence? The horror of a 14 year old boy dead in the street, at your hand? The animalistic fight or flight response? The contents of your brown paper bag screaming at you to get home and finish it up?

You served 6 years for your crime. You didn’t say sorry. I have bruises from my collar. You pulled me around on that tight leash for 6 years. You were in jail, but I assure you, I am the one in prison. You got out in August of 2015. Ever since then, wherever you have gone I have also been dragged along.

You will never know the impact you have had on my family’s life. You will never know who my brother was, what his passions were, what his laugh sounded like. And we are left with the memories.

Just remember this: I may be the one on the leash, but you are the one pulling it. You carry the burden. My collar might cause bruises, but your back is hunched. Your neck is stiff. You limp in agony from the weight you bear. The guilt makes you weak; it withers you with every move. My leash might hopefully snap, but your burden will never cease to exist.