My brother David would have been 61 last week, but he never made it past 1987. And for that matter, how can anyone know what he lived, as he was born severely mentally retarded in 1953.
The toothy smiled happy kid picture is encased in a thick piece of acrylic. My Dad kept it by his bedside, and when we cleaned out Mom's house, I decided to move it to my bedside. I found the letter I red at his grave during a visit in 1988.
There is so much to wonder in the realm of "what ifs"...