One year ago today I was writing for you dear readers when my sister-in-law called to tell me that the Ohio State Police had phoned and given her the news that my brother had never made it to Michigan after he pulled out of my driveway. He had turned into a rest stop outside Cleveland and died of liver failure in the parking lot. He hadn't had a Drink in eight months. I hadn't had a drink thirteen months.

He was ten years older than me. He was my little league coach. He taught me about history, music, politics, girls, and how to be a man. In the last months, we were closer than we'd been in decades as he worked like a champion to put the pieces of his life back together. And then it was all cruelly smashed.

But I intend to celebrate this damn anniversary in his honor.

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