Dear Sir,

You don't know me. We spoke for a few minutes today. Thank you for your help. You seem like a very good man. When I learned that your oldest son was killed earlier this year and we were asked to reach out to you and to provide some support, I knew what I wanted to say....

My oldest brother died of cancer not quite five months ago now. He was 51. Although he grew up, married happily, had three terrific children, even enjoyed three grandchildren, his death still feels like a crime. I can't think of a better word. Like someone broke into my house. An invasion. Still unsolved. I can't fathom how or why this happened to him or me. All I can see is the empty space where part of my life used to be. And what did that criminal steal from me? Peace.

But there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing. I have never felt so useless. And angry. But mostly useless.  Because I can't understand it. Will I ever? Maybe. Maybe not.

There is one thing I know though: he wouldn't want me to be unhappy.

I know this.

I know this for me and for his wife, his children, his family, his friends, all of us who loved him, all of us who stare at that same empty space every day.

It's really the only thing I know.

So Sir, I want to say this to you. I don't claim to know your pain. I have children. I can't imagine. But I wonder...what would your son want?