My name is Lora, and my younger brother, Alex, died at the age of 30 on July 3rd, 2017, of a drug overdose.
He was a frequent felon, an addict, and now, a statistic. But more importantly, he was hilarious, intelligent, and extremely creative. Even during the darkest times in short life, he wrote. While serving his longest stint in prison, he wrote an entire book. It was his most cherished possession, and his single source of personal pride. He wrote all 493 pages by hand, but never got to type and edit them.
That's where I come in.
Every day I rack my brain with ideas of things I could have done to save my brother, even though everyone tells me I couldn't have. I don't really believe that, but I've at least accepted the fact that I can't go back and change things. I can, however, take his work and move forward.
On July 3rd, 2016, he announced on social media his goal to have his book typed and published.
On July 3rd, 2017, he died.
On July 3rd. 2018, I'll have finished his book.
This is the story of telling my brother's story.
Sometimes I ask myself what Alex ever did for me to justify the amount of time and emotional energy being spent on editing this asshole&...