Looking back, there were so many signs. But who could have imagined? These things aren't supposed to happen.

Jude needed me, and I wasn't there. Worse, I gave up on him. I was angry and frustrated. He kept using increasingly dangerous drugs. When I told him to stop or slow down, he would go back to Tandy, and I wouldn't hear from him again for days and weeks.

One moment haunts me. I was on my way home from work, descending the stairs to the Castro Street MUNI Station as Jude walked up the stairs.

I didn't recognize him at first. Jude had been losing weight since arriving in San Francisco, but he looked skeletal climbing the steps. His face was sunken in. His hair was matted and oily. His eyes were wide and intense like windows to a dozen screaming mimis.

I stopped and realized the terrible extent of Jude's substance abuse. I still couldn't recognize him. My bright, funny, friendly little brother was gone, and in his shoes was an irrational, insatiable hunger for self-destruction.

"Jude, you look awful. What are you doing?"

"You know," he whispered intensely. His eyes went somehow even wider as if an epiphany had just come to him.

I stood feeling more and more uneasy. "Okay. Yeah, I guess I know what you're doing. Jude, please, you gotta stop doing this to yourself."

"I can think clearer when I'm on drugs. I know things. Things you've known," he said, like he was accusing me of something.

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I blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't think you're thinking as clearly as you think you're thinking. Let's get you down. Come home with me. We'll get you fed and showered."

"I'm not going with you. You've known this whole time. You knew what I was going to do! You know what I'm going to do!" He was shouting at me.

I didn't know. I thought I knew. Jude had been threatening suicide for so many years, and he had finally chosen a slow death. In my mind, I saw Jude's face on a wall next to Jes'. Death by overdose. Tears started filling my eyes, and I fought back sobs.

"Jude. Please. Stop."

"You know!" he screamed. "You know! You know!"

I didn't know. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. I just started crying, and he just kept screaming, "You know!"

Finally, he stopped screaming and walked up the stairs and away from me. He looked back with sadness and regret and accusation.

I stepped aside to collapse on a bench and cry. Usually, I kept everything boxed up, but this moment broke me. I felt so alone. My sister, dead. My parents, useless at best. My older brother, a monster. And my younger brother, the living dead. My entire family, gone.

I asked myself what Jude meant. What was I supposed to know? If only I were smarter. If only I were stronger, wiser, richer, better, anything but the person I am. I left him alone for too long. And what would happen to Jude? When would I get the call, saying they found his body outside somewhere with a needle in his arm?

"Are you okay? Did your boyfriend break up with you?" said a voice.

I looked up, surprised. Some guy in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, saw me crying on a plaza bench and thought this was the time to pick me up.

"No, please," I raised my hand and looked down. "I just need a minute."

"Sorry, it's just I saw you sitting here crying, and you're so beautiful. Whoever he is, he doesn't deserve you. You know, you can come with me to my-"

I got up and walked away, wiping my tears and boxing my emotions away.

"Yeah, fuck you, too!" he shouted behind me. "You're a piece of shit!"