My dad is one of several brothers. One of his older brothers went from being an “eccentric” kid, to clearly having mental illness in his late teens.

At 19 he ended up in prison for drug trafficking. He got out, got his degree, but never ended up working. He lived off of my grandparents, and when they stopped giving him money, he stole from them.

I never saw him. He would send us birthday presents, and was the only one of our uncles to do so. He sent intricately drawn diagrams of animals, which I have to this day. He loved animals.

He got our home phone number somehow, and would call and leave weird messages. He called once when I was really little (around 6) and told me my grandparents had died. They hadn’t.

My dad went completely no contact with him, because he had threatened to kill him. Last time I saw him was 10 years ago at my grandma’s funeral, where he fought with all of his brothers. One of her last wishes was for someone to take care of him.

Nobody did. He was in and out of jail. Ended up homeless.

I guess somewhere along the line, he got sick and went to the hospital. He found out he had cancer. He refused treatment and told no one.

The cops eventually found his next of kin last month, to tell us he was in a care facility, hours from the town where he lived, still refusing treatment. His kidneys were failing. Nobody went to see him. We thought there was time.

He died last week. He was 62. We cremated him, and are burying his ashes next to his mother, the only person who didn’t give up on him.

I feel so sad, and ashamed. I wish someone did something, but I don’t know if there’s anything we could’ve done.