It's too late

I've often wondered why, suddenly, I will just want to cry about my brother. It takes a few deep breaths to calm down.

It seemed phony, since it'd been many years since we'd spoken.

But now, we will NEVER speak again. Neither will he speak again to my parents. It's too late.

He will never see his son again. His son will never see him again. It's too late.

His son missed the family service.

My other brother was there when it happened. I hate that he has that guilt of not saving him.

And I'm scared that I might have the condition, too. What if I do and passed it along to Karina?

It killed my brother, nearly killed my mother. But, at least, it's NOT too late for us.

The Last of Sheila (Coburn)