• So excited that your home,
    hugs and kisses all around.
    Family visiting, playing games,
    laughing out loud, with you there,
    it was almost normal for a change.

    7 days of paradise,
    seeing family,
    being happy.
    That 7th night, you'd had too much,
    You overdosed. Purposely.

    We found you in your bed,
    one hand on your chest.
    The other holding the pill bottle.
    If you took as directed, 2 a day,
    there would be 4 left. It was empty.

    We called 911, we were too late.
    Uncle called the coroner,
    and the funeral home.
    I had to leave the room,
    but found someone left before me. Kirby.

    I walked cautiously through our entryway,
    finding everything knocked over,
    broken lamps, smashed picture frames,
    chairs knocked over,
    and a fresh blood trail.

    I grabbed the doorknob,
    found it covered in blood,
    and used my shirttail to open it.
    I was completely freaked out (there's no other way to say it)
    at what I saw when I got out there.

    Kirby lay on his side on the sidewalk.
    His shirt off, blood dripping down his sides.
    His hands bleeding, his face bleeding,
    Bawling harder than I've ever seen anyone do.
    I touched his arm, and he jolted up.

    He screamed "I will not be the oldest brother!"
    and leapt up off the ground,
    and managed to climb the neighbors's tree,
    to the top, and jump onto their roof,
    where, he hit his head off their chimney until he knocked himself out.

    So we called 911 again,
    they wrapped up his head,
    and sent him to a mental hospital,
    where he still is today.
    That's how I spent the day of your death.

    We cremated you,
    Kirby couldn't come, he'd kill himself.
    Instead, he was wearing a strait jacket in a white room.
    Dad couldn't come.
    Instead, he was wearing an orange jumpsuit, locked up, in Florida.

    Mom couldn't come.
    She's dead.
    You're with her now, Jonas.
    We miss you so much.
    Kirby is so sorry.

    Whenever you talk to him,
    all he says is that he's sorry.
    He'll be in their for months.
    He has brain damage now,
    thanks to the chimney.

    Jonas, I'm sorry too.
    I didn't know you were in that much pain.
    If you could talk to me one more time,
    would you say you were sorry
    for the way we spent the day of your death?

    Well, now you're all ashes,
    on the mantle above the fireplace.
    The wrong place for a person to be.
    Today, I melted that plastic pill bottle,
    and climbed the tree,
    to the roof of their house,
    and dumped the mixture in.
    For you.

    I'm sorry you had to go through what you went through.
    Hopefully, Kirby will be okay.
    He'll never be the same,
    but he's alive, for now.
    In a strait jacket.

    This was basically just me venting. Don't comment if you don't feel like it. I don't care if you rate it badly, or even rate it at all. I miss my big brother so much. Kirby is so sorry. He think's it's his fault. He talked to you today. He managed to kick a nurse in the side so hard, that she gave in and took off the jacket so he could get on his knees and pray to God that he could talk to you. Jonas, please tell me you heard him.

    R.I.P. Jonas Quincy W. love you.