Today is my little brother’s birthday. My family never forgets it, though he has been dead over fifty years. He, himself, never got to celebrate even one birthday. He died at the age of nine months. He never walked. He never talked. Physically, he was so weak, he never even learned to sit up. My mother remembered that he only laughed one time – when my older sister was clowning around. His name was Timothy. And, in his short time here, he became unforgettable.
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