April 17th, 1945
I struggle through the rest of the week, finding solace in the fact that I have no family to share my grief with. This would be my burden. My father was dead before I had even spoken a word, my mother died out on one of the cattle ranches, a house servant. I have not the heart to further pursue the terms unto which I find myself alone. All I know is that I await the arrival of my brother’s personal belongings. Perhaps, if I can see what he saw, read what he wrote, before his lifelong struggle with God himself was ended by a soulless Hun warrior, I could better appreciate the older brother who had stoically taken the challenges fate had thrown at him.
I only now realise how much I will miss my brother.