In Memoriam

I was not always an only child.  On July 31, 1970, my brother was born.  Gregory Michael Hohman. He, as I, was adopted.  My brother was instrumental in my parent's choosing to adopt me.  He and I were as most siblings growing up...we would fight, but ultimately, he would defend me in my time of need.  When he turned 13, he began what would ultimately be a 15 year, uphill battle against drugs and alcohol.

Fast-forward...he went in and out of jail for many years.  Fast-forward...January 4, 1999.  My brother was released from Snow Hill Detention Center in Snow Hill, Maryland.  He came to visit/stay with my ex-wife and I.  We goofed around for 2 days, staying up until 6am on the second day playing "Double Dare" on an original NES.  He went to my parent's house that evening.  That would be the last time I would see him alive.

January 8, 1999, my father found his oldest son dead in the bathroom in the basement.  He was 28.  He was poisoned with Morphine.  He stood 5'6" and weighed 130 pounds.  They found 86mg in his bloodstream.  His death was ruled an "accidental suicide", but there is more to the story.  I will digress from the full story here, as it is extremely complicated.

When I was told of his death, I insisted on absolution.  I went downstairs to the bathroom where he had expired.  I saw his blood in the toilet and on the floor.  I live with these images...permanently. This year, he would have been 44.  I always have difficulties around July 31st and January 8th, but this year seems to be harder, as it marks 15 years since his...murder.

As I write this, tears stream from my face.  At times, I cannot sleep due to the images flooding my mind's eye.  I have tried to drown the images, but neither the beer nor whiskey seemed strong enough.  I would give almost anything to have my brother back, but I know it is futile.  I must continue with life.  It is what he would want.  This is for you, Greg.
  

 Namaste

Jai Baghwan

gvgeyuhi, tsosdanvtli

 

Indian Prayer

Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there.

I do not sleep.

I am the thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glint on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in morning hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there.

I did not die.

R.I.P. Gregory Michael Hohman
7/31/70-1/7/99