. I had a brother, Eric, who died of an overdose when I was fifteen. My parents and I were on a trip down to Florida to go on a cruise during spring break. My brother Josh goes to college in Orlando and we were eating lunch with him on the way down to Miami when we got the call. We turned around to go to Maryland for the funeral. It’s family tradition to throw dirt onto the casket once it’s in the grave. You must help bury the body. I had to bury my brother. I couldn’t I just stood there crying staring at the grave with dirt in my hand. Until my Aunt walked up to me and told me I had to. Then somehow, I realized why. It’s not a cruel act. It’s acceptance of their passing. A final goodbye. I learned that life can be fleeting and gone in an instant. I learned the depth of grief people can bring to others, how much you can mean to someone. Most importantly, I grudgingly learned from my brother’s mistakes. If faced with this challenge now I would walk to the grave with my head held high, drop the dirt and make sure anyone who needed help doing this realized why it needs to be done.