My brother died when I was eleven years old. It wasn’t as if we did not see it coming; he had been a substance abuser since his early teenage years and had detached himself entirely from our family. It didn’t feel like a significant change when it happened; I never got to see him anyway. But once the grief set in, it was overwhelming. I couldn’t possibly fathom why he chose drugs over his family, how he could casually ignore all his little sister's letters to him, pleading to visit. I felt betrayed by his passing. Never got to say goodbye, never got to see him laid to rest, and never imagined closure. A few years after he passed, I inherited some of his old things: his XBOX, his box of letters and drawings my little brother and I had sent him over the years, and his camera. One of my favorite photos of myself is the one he took on that old black-and-white camera. I also found my favorite picture of him on that camera's SD card. I was able to reconnect with him through those photos. I could see what he did in the years he was away from home: his adventures and his life through his camera lens. Around that same time, I began to further my photography career, focusing more on black-and-white photography: my brother’s passion. This opened the floodgates for me. I took my camera everywhere, on day adventures with my friends, camping trips, and on neighborhood walks. My photography evolved, and I moved away from my brother’s style of photography to my own. Took more photos of the animals around me, then learned about all those individual creatures so I could identify them the next time. I stopped and smelled the roses, heard the birds sing, and wanted to name every little bug I saw along the way. As the years pass, I forget more about my brother. The way his voice sounded, the way he smelled. Nothing in life is permanent; nothing will stay the same forever. My brother dying changed my life forever, but not in an entirely negative way. It helped me find my passions, such as photography, but more importantly changed my outlook on life. When I see an eagle soaring above, I know it's my brother watching over me. When I see a worm on the sidewalk, I pick it up to move it into the dirt. When I see a sprout of a flower, I stop to take a photo. It is the little things that make the difference, and all of those little things have beauty. Letting his death consume my life was no way to live. Instead, I allow his memory to remind me to live. I am now a junior at Whitman College studying History and English, and upon graduating will enroll in a Master's in Teaching program. The teachers in my life have always been my best friends and support systems through my education and life. I want to pay it forward through my career, and be that emotional rock for my students who might also feel the same pain of losing a loved one.