Steven Walker, brother: Our lives will never --and I mean never --be the same after that horrible day. Jan. 5, 2006. The bonfire seems like a traditional event up at the Walker house. Everybody smiling and having fun. But this isn't the case. My brother's truck is there and flags are hanging off the front porch. The jolt goes right through me. It's paralyzing. Ryan isn't there.
It just doesn't seem right. My brother and I grew up in this house, on this land. We built forts in every corner of our property. We learned to drive dad's old Chevy out on the gravel road that leads to the house. Usually we would come off I-84, and dad would lift one of us onto his lap and let us steer in. Ryan and I always had birthday parties with fireworks and a bunch of friends would be here. Maybe the fireworks are what bring me to this dream I keep having of Ryan's last moments.
He didn't deserve this. Ryan is just a real nice kid that didn't have an enemy in the world. But that day was real. It really happened. It seems like it was just this nightmare, but this nightmare is never-ending. Ryan is really gone. How could these people look so happy when something so horrible has just happened?
But we had to do this for him. I know Ryan would not want us to be upset and depressed. He never was. He always kept his head high and always smiled.