I'm a middle aged guy, like a bunch of you, and hopefully unlike you, I lost my younger brother the first of the year. He had been living at my parents' house, the house we grew up in, before he got sick (not sure when, we'd been estranged since about '10 and Dad & Mom died in '99 and '14 respectively). And because I'm in a nursing home 3 states away and our brother is also in a nursing home, it's fallen to my son to gather some artifacts from the house that is stuffed with the detritus of someone who just gave up. I'll spare you the details but I'm crying about losing the last things from my childhood. It feels like I'm just whining but it just hurts, ya know?