It was 2003 in India and my brother was taken to a hospital. Only my mom and dad were with him. My other siblings were at a relative's house in my country, Bangladesh. He was taken to India because none of the Bangladeshi doctors could tell what was wrong with him. My parents took him to at least 10 hospitals before going to India. When they reached there and admitted my brother to a good hospital right away, they told my parents that my brother had blood cancer. He was 4 years old at that time. Everyone was really worried and crying because they didn’t know how that actually happened. My mom told me that he was crying to eat some food that he really liked, but the doctors told them that he couldn’t eat it at that time. After a few days, they gave my parents the news that he had passed away peacefully. But inside, he had a lot of pain. My parents were heartbroken and couldn’t believe it. They brought him to Bangladesh and took him to the nearest cemetery to bury him. After 2 years of sadness, I was born in 2005, the same month as my brother. My parents were really happy and gave me the same last name as my brother, who passed away. I think that I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t passed away. I would not be in this world if he hadn’t left. I’m really proud to have his last name, and I’m still trying my best to make my parents proud and not make them sad. Now I'm here writing this story from the United States. I will say that I’m really happy that I’m here and I got a chance to share my feelings with others by writing this story.