Second story I ever did. Jag introspective.
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Jag knows grief, and he knows he does not want to be the cause of it.
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When Jag was younger, still in school, his older brother Davin died. He saw grief then. He saw his father's unspeakable anger toward something he couldn't name, his sisters' sorrow poisoning their words, their food, the very air they breathed. And he saw his brother's hate for the job that had killed Davin.
All this passed, in time.
What didn't pass was his mother's odd numbness. His mother, who before had been lively and gay, would not move from her bed, would not speak or eat unless cajoled by Wynessa, who would have to be reminded sometimes, that she had to breathe.
She called him Davin, instead of Jag. She told him she wanted to join him, wherever he was.
He promised himself that he would outlive his mother. He couldn't die with the knowledge that his death would do that to his mother, that his death might be the one to push his mother over the edge. He wouldn't die while his mother was still alive to grieve for him.
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He was always good, but after his brother's death, he became perfect.