Grief.

My brother died last July. He was 37. He was climbing a mountain in Switzerland. A large rockfall took down both him and his guide. They fell nearly 700m. To their deaths. Or at least I hope so. It took emergency personnel 9 hours to rescue them, so I hope they weren't lying on the mountain in their broken bodies waiting for life to leave them.

This was his second attempt at the mountain. Life doesn't give you second chances. He should've known that.

I didn't mean that.

One life fades... Death is certainly all the cliches you hear, and more.

In one moment everything can be different. Except it's like that for every moment. We are just too busy to notice.

I still have all his bags and climbing gear, posted back to me from Chamonix, sitting in my son's wardrobe waiting patiently to be unpacked. I can't even let go of the postage stamp.

I did have to go through his suitcase to pull out the 4 blocks of Italian chocolate from Torino. The chocolate I asked him to bring home for me.

His things still smell of him. I know they won't for long. One day the smell will evaporate, just like he did, gone forever. Leave no trace, hey.

Not a day goes by that I don't think of him. I hardly thought of him when he was here. I can't help but wonder... is it heaven up there? Is it heaven up there?

Because it's hell down here.