22nd March 1981 My Peter was hit by a car. A car doing only 30 mph. He died in hospital – I was told of a massive heart attack when his rare blood group (O-) was finally found and his body rejected it. My brother was just 6 years old. I was only 2. For years I believed that everyone would have preferred it to be me, as they talked about his greatness and I was always just told to be quiet. It was years later when my mom told me that she would have never coped without me. But I never felt that growing up, always living in his shadow. But that makes me very selfish, I know. And my poor innocent brother had had his sweet life taken – and nothing is worse than that. So whenever things are really bad I know I have to keep going, to make my life worthwhile because he did not have the chance to.
But I DO get angry now. I see the car accidents waiting to happen. The mother (or father) who lets their child just run across the road without looking; the driver doing 40 mph in a 30 (who I usually catch up with at the traffic lights or through NSL; the people blocking any clear place to cross outside a school,
Why does someone have to die before people are willing to accept that their behavior is risking the lives of others?!