For weeks after my younger brother died, many years ago, he came to me at night, always at the hour of his death. He would enter the room when I slept, gently, and I would waken, and we would spend time together. We didn’t talk. But those hours resolved many things between us.
Some of the unfinished business in his life seemed to filter away, some he bequeathed to me. These were profound events that I remember even now, like they were yesterday.