Usually I write with sarcastic angst but today is different. My cousin's son is dead following a motorcycle accident that sent him into a utility pole. He died post-op as a result of a blood clot. The reality is that he was probably under the influence of heroin when the accident happened. He had struggled with his demons for a long time. He was only 27. I remember seeing him as a toddler and then a fun-loving adolescent. I'm heartbroken for his family. He was a good kid and a talented artist. He was in WNY last summer and I didn't have time to get together with him and my family. I feel awful about that. I'm usually good about making time because life is so short. Now I know I must be better about it.
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