He was 28 and died suddenly from a brain aneurysm. He was smart and funny and sometimes unwise, but I loved him. His brothers and I are keeping both of his rogues alive (one Alliance, one horde, both named Stabs N Kisses).
I lost my older brother a few months ago. Screw you 2020.
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I’m sorry for your loss.
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There really isn’t anything I can say other than I am truly sorry for your loss.
(gives Thanastasia a gentle hug of support)
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I hope things get better for you and your family soon. It’s been a rough year so far and this kind of tragedy makes things worse.
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My mom got cancer in 2020… its a bad year…
Always keep smiling no matter how grey things look, right?
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My condolences, OP.
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I’m so sorry for your loss. My mother passed from the same issue and it was really ugly.
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My grandmother died from something similar. I still remember that night very vividly, despite it being 13 years ago. I’m sorry for your loss, and I know that doesn’t help. But unfortunately, nothing I could say would help in this situation.
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That part made me cry. 
I’m truly sorry for your loss.
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My deepest condolences for your unspeskable loss.
stalks off to angrily punch Death straight in the Juicebox
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I’m sorry for your loss. -hug-
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Damn, that’s terrible, my condolences.
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This is a comment made by reddit user Gsnow.
I was linked to it when a few months back my childhood friend took his own life and it left me distraught.
Hopefully these words will echo with you as they’ve done with me.
"Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child.
But here’s my two cents. I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love.
So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks."
Please take care of yourself OP.
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There’s nothing I can say for your comfort, but I wish there were.
I’m so sorry.
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Well, that sucks. Sorry I don’t have any more useful words than that.
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Sorry to hear that. Really not much comparable to losing a child. Terrible.
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So very sorry, life is cruel and heartless at times.
It’s awesome you are keeping your Son’s memory alive with his Rogues, very cute take on a memorial.
Hang in there /hugs.
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stay strong brother.
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That was gorgeous, Eannu.
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