One of those drunken dirty derelicts you saw sleeping under a bridge could have been my brother. Before you turn away and pretend he is invisible take a second if you will to look at him through my eyes. He was a golden child full of energy, hope, enthusiasm for life, filled with sunshine and laughter. My brother was ten years older than I and from the very first he was my champion and hero. I loved him unconditionally. He and his entire generation were called upon to set aside their hopes and dreams to fight a war in far off lands with the express purpose of battling injustice and totalitarianism and to preserve the American Dream. It is because of the sacrifices of those selfless men and women we are still living in democracy with all that entails. When he returned from the war the laughter and the sunshine were gone. Back then they called it Combat Fatigue and today it is referred to as PTSD. It doesn't matter what you call it the results are the same. This is his story.