Early this morning, I woke up at precisely the moment that marks six years since my brother was killed by a drunk driver. And I do mean precisely – even adjusting for the time zone difference between where I live and where he used to live. What it means, I don’t know. I didn’t even realize it at first. Frankly, I was annoyed at being awake so early. I prefer to be asleep for a little more of June 21 than that, because sleep is the most effective way to pass the time without thinking about what the day means. It took about an hour before the connection between my wake time and Frank occurred to me. What can be said about this day, this loss, and my coping with it, six years later? Does it get