On this day, ten years ago, at about 8am my little brother was killed. Arthur was going to work in heavy traffic on the west-bound 91 freeway when he was bumped by a car. Whether the fault was his or the other driver, there is no way to know. Because my brother was riding a motorcycle, the accident killed him.
They said he died instantly. His neck was broken, so his heart would have stopped. There is no way of knowing if he was still aware, after the accident.
In college I had three friends who all loved riding motorcycles, and who all stopped riding after a close call.
Arthur was nine years younger than me. Growing up, he was always getting into trouble. Once, he burned most of the skin off his upper legs, when he played with first solvent, then fire. For years, through high school and after, he was messed up on drugs and alcohol. In that time it was as though my brother was not there. Eventually he did get cleaned up, met a very nice girl, got a decent job, and got married.
His life was looking up, when he was killed by a meaningless accident.
I miss my brother.