I haven't been motivated to write much lately. I did write a drunken blog Saturday evening but deleted it on Sober Sunday. I am inspired to write after reading Herny23's blog about his murdered friend. This is not one of my funny blogs. Sorry. I'll write about pussy boogers or runny poop some other time.

When I was 17 my brother Dale and my sister's fiancee, Rick were stabbed to death.

They had been drinking and talking about Rick's sister's estranged husband who had been an abusive, controlling guy and was harassing her. In the wee hours it seemed to them a wise idea to go beat the bastard up.

They went to his house and picked a fight. He led them into the house where he used an 8-inch kitchen knife to stab Rick through the heart. My Brother was there for back-up. He entered the fight as Rick stumbled from the house, bleeding to death. My brother was stabbed 13 times in the neck, chest, back...wherever.

I could write an entire blog of the surreal Sunday morning we were notified of the killings, the relatives showing up, the denial, the crying, the anger...nuf said.

I had to testify in the murder trial as I was drinking with them before they went to die. The defendant plead self-defense. The trial lasted a week. His family had money. My brother was an ex-con.

I remember the crime scene photos. My brother lying in his own piss and blood, his face a mask of terror, his final scream frozen on his face. The image is burned upon my memory like the fading green dot of a flash bulb.

The defendant was aquitted. There were a lot of facts about his history that were not admissable in court. Maybe it would have swayed jurors. Maybe not...

I remember seeing the defensive slashes on my brother's hands as he lay in his casket. He looked at peace.

It's many years later and I have been by the bedside when family members have died. I saw my mom's body shut down as a tumor the size of a softball competed for space in her skull. The final score in THAT game was Tumor over Brain 1-0.

Today I make sure I am thankful every minute I am with my son or my girlfriend. I squeeze the joy out my love for them like it was the last bit of Crest in the tube. I am an athiest so I don't believe I will see Dale or my mom again. I laugh at tragedy and believe NO subject is off limits for a joke. I see a starving African kid on TV and make a joke about flies on his face or the nutritional value of mud and laugh because a cry for the human condition would last forever and I've cried enough.

This is a long blog.