On September 25, 2005, my dear brother, Andrew Thomas, died. The pain is still fresh and sharp, a lingering ache in my breast. I loved him dearly, he was my only brother. He died as the result of a tragic accident. He was only 18 years old. My brother was tall, slender, and handsome. He had just graduated from highschool. He loved to sing, play the drums, inline skate, and play Yu-gi-oh. Andrew and I constantly teamed up to annoy my little sister, but she loved it. We were all very close. I know that you do not know who Andrew is, you never met him, or talked with him. We are, however, all humans, we all feel pain, we have all known suffering, and I know that you will agree that this was a good life lost. I drew this picture the afternoon of September 25, before I knew my brother was dead. At that time it was just a picture of an old elf, weathered by time and age. I changed it later to show a bit of my feelings. Though life must go on, I usually feel like this inside. He is not blind, but rather, he is empty; lost, and you can see that in his eye. My brother is gone and he will never come back. I believe I will see him again in heaven, but in the meantime, I sit with the pain in my breast, shedding my silent tears.