Today marks a year since we lost Nick. I'll just quote from my other blog, because it's just as true today as it was a year ago.
I lost my brother today. My little brother. My little brother, my oldest friend, among my truest friends despite our propensity for bickering over the absolute stupidest, most trivial shit imaginable. I keep praying that this is some sort of fantastic nightmare brought on by deep psychosis. I'm thoroughly drunk as I type, so it's not outside the realm of possibility.
This isn't supposed to happen. He's the one that's supposed to be spare parts for me (since he's younger and all), the one that's actually going to settle down and marry a nice girl and give my parents all the grandchildren they want (so that the pressure's off me), the dude who has gamely offered to beat up every guy who's ever broken my heart despite his personal feelings, the guy who helps me change my oil and is my culinary guinea pig, to whom I still owe banana bread. The guy who picked up a 40lb bag of manure and accidentally sprayed it in a perfect arch over my feet. Who cried on Santa's lap as kid, made a scene waving at us from the altar the first time he served as an altar boy, adored his cats and dogs, gave me shit nonstop about the Steelers and Pens, took shit nonstop about Brett Favre and the Pirates. The guy who's at the heart of my best stories, like when he was run over by the Pirate Parrot on a quad.