He was discharged from the Army at the end of March. Since then, he has been living with a girlfriend that he met when she and her mother were witnesses to the wreck he had when he was trying to kill himself (what a lovely story). He told my mother that he was not going to come back to Texas; he was going to stay in Georgia because the people here are bad influences on him and he needed to make positive changes in his life.
Fast-forward a couple of weeks. On Friday, the girlfriend broke up with him, so he could no longer
Dave, Brooklyn, and I are supposed to go to my parent's house for dinner tonight. This will be the first time that I have seen or talked to my baby brother since the drug relapse, the suicide attempts and his subsequent Army discharge. We have texted a few times, but I haven't been able to actually pick up the phone and call him. I can't seem to summon up the courage or find the right words. So I just pray. And worry.
I don't feel ready to see him. I don't really know what to say to him anymore. I just have this sick, heavy feeling hanging over me, the kind that stays with you when you are watching someone you love self-destruct. I know that feeling well now.