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His is not a story about my brother. This is not a story about my father. This is the story of me. The story of me is a story about my brother and my father. That is the paradox of my story. It is my story, but has never been mine alone. <div>This is a story of loss. This a story of pain and suffering of addiction and disease of courage and joy of unbearable love.</div><div>This is the story of the weight of love- measured in moments.</div><div>Today hurts. I miss him. I doubt myself. </div><div><br></div><div>*sunday mass </div><div>*mom-mom</div><div>*the lake</div><div>*His hands</div><div>*this moment in time</div><div>*diagnosis</div><div>*plane to Houston </div><div>*summer in London</div><div>*ride back from Iowa</div><div> </div><div><br></div>