I use this thing called statcounter to track my blog. With it, I can see what Google searches have led to my page.
There's the expected:
"Miranda McLeod"
"my brother is dead blog"
"Miranda Kyle dead"
The unexpected:
"High waisted jeans"
"How to cook a goat"
"Is a dog an autistic cat"
"Dead troll"
"Pingpongpoms"
And then there's the searches that break my heart:
"My baby brother is dead"
"Dreaming of dead brother"
"My brother died while I was in college"
"Lonely Christmas"
"I found my brother dead when I was 14"
"Poems for my brothers funeral"
It's easy for me to forget that there are a lot of dead brothers in this world. A lot of leftover sisters. A lot of people tonight will lie in their beds and fantasize about the future and past, anything to keep the present out of the space before they sleep.
I take melancholy comfort in that. You should, too. Tonight we'll both kick the sheets and hope that tomorrow we'll be stronger. Better. Able somehow to deal with the weight that today almost killed us.
Friday, October 19, 2007
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1 comment:
How weird to feel compelled to post a comment to a post from years ago. But ... My baby brother is dead. He was 2.8 years younger than me. He died at 50. I was mean to him a bunch when we were kids, but we were still so close. As we grew up, he started taking care of me in so many ways. Bringing me a watermelon in the summer. Bringing me a Christmas tree. We moved away and he traveled a lot. He would call me from airports all over the world. He would mail me postcards from all over the world. He would send me emails about what weird food he had just eaten in China. I miss him. I love him. He is part of me. He is my childhood. He is my future.
M.R.
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