The day my brother died

My little brother, R, was four years old when he died, and the worst part it is, it was my fault. He really loved it when I would grab him by his hands and swing him around and around. You should have heard the way he would laugh when I did that! One Saturday afternoon we were upstairs in his bedroom and I started swinging him, and he was giggling and whooping, when suddenly I lost my grip on his hands and he flew away, right through the bedroom window. On the way down he broke his spine on the porch railing. I raced down to help, but he wasn't even breathing when I got down there. His eyes rolled in his head and he looked up at me for a moment and then closed them, and he was gone. My mom and dad divorced soon after that.