It was five years ago that my brother died, shortly after recieving his cancer diagnosis. I miss him. I wish I had talked to him more: about things that happened years ago, about things that might well have happened in the future.
I keep a scrap book, of things that I’ve done that he would have liked to hear about, things that would have interested him, thing that remind me of what he liked, what he did.
You can find some is work here and here. These images wasn’t all that he was of course, all that he did. I see him often in young men passing in the street, on the bus. Really I would like to know what happened next in his story: with his wife, his daughter, his great enthusiasms.
Five years ago my brother died, what ever his plans were, they are no more. We make a new story instead with only his ghost in it.