I haven't always been the best brother, not that I didn't love Nathan, I did, but we

were never close after we got into high school, and by the time I hit 30 and lived on the

other side of the country, he'd become someone I'd call at Christmas and birthdays and

organically chat with for 10 minutes before one of us decided to let the other one off

the hook. That changed a couple of years ago. He started calling me more regularly and

it got less weird. After a few weeks he started opening up more, telling me more about

his life, his plans and things that were worrying him. The biggest was his health. He'd

started feeling tired all the time, even though he was eating the same and made sure to

get enough sleep once the fatigue started. I choked to them at first that he was just

getting old and he laughed, but I could tell he was still worried. He eventually went and

got checked out by a doctor, but they said he was fine other than being a bit dehydrated.

They gave him some low grade sleeping pills to help his sleep, being more restful and

suggested he try yoga of all things. To his credit he tried all that and more, but he

just kept getting worse. By early last year I could tell he was near the end of his rope

and I offered to come out to visit him. He was resistant at first, but eventually he

let me fly out for the weekend. When he picked me up from the airport I couldn't hide

my shock. He was only 35 but he looked like an old man. His hair was patchy and grey

and his skin was loose and shallow. I'd seen photos of him from his 33rd birthday and

he looked strong and healthy. Riding back to his house, I could see the skeletal ridges

of his hands and tiny wrists as he feebly gripped the steering wheel like a life preserver

through every stop, start and turn. When I asked him what was wrong, what he was hiding

from me. He just shrugged and shook his head. Doctors still sound fine, other than being

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