During the dreaded drive to my eldest brother's burial, with cars graciously pulling over to the side of the road to allow our parade of mourning to pass, an ambulance, unable to adhere to respectfully allowing us to pass, zoomed past the procession with haste. The irony crushed my chest like a heavy rock through my windshield, as I watched the red blaring bus howl to save a life as we, slowly, about 40 miles per hour, hesitantly said good-bye to one.
You will be missed Weasle.
Love,
Babysister
