Tomorrow, October 2, will be exactly one month since my brother, Jerald (Boo) passed away from an accidental drug overdose. I believe the semi-numb haze of shock the past month is starting to wear off. Although I am more in control of my outer emotions, the pain is growing worse because I am starting to realize that I am NEVER going to see my brother again. I am never going to hear his voice again, or drive past his house and see him mowing his lawn, or anything else that I took for granted only a month ago. Right now, he still feels so close but I know it's only a matter of time before I start to forget the little things like exactly what his voice sounds like. I fear the future that will make me forget the small details even while it eases the sharpness of the pain. I would rather have the pain than to have his face become more and more blurry in my memory. Right now I say "he is my brother," because time hasn't yet forced me to say, " he was my brother." His birthday was on Sept. 30 and I forgot to pick up the phone, even though he had taken the time about a month earlier to call and leave me a long message telling me how much he appreciated me and the things I've done during a previous family crisis, and that he loved me. It's too late to tell him now that I love and appreciate him and his warm heart. I can only hope that he knows.