My brother was obsessed with the movie Glory. OBSESSED. His passwords and profile pictures all centered on the film and its historical backdrop. He talked endlessly about the research he had done on the battle, the trivia surrounding the making of the film.
It never interested me much.
Despite considering myself something of a fan of film, Glory never made the cut. Maybe it was because my brother was so obsessed with the movie, like he was with many war movies and stories of sacrifice and camaraderie and justice and bravery in the face of insurmountable odds. Maybe it was because that film score had become synonymous with the triteness--to my critical and cynical mind--of these things. Or maybe it was because I hated to see Matthew Broderick as anything but Ferris Bueller. But I saw the film as beneath me, just as I saw my brother's taste in music, food, fashion, and just about everything else as somehow beneath me.
So I never watched it.
My father, mother, and sister did not escape so easily. They were closer to him, lived with him, talked with him. Whenever he could, he'd sit them down and make them watch the movie with him. Sure, it was the umpteenth time he had seen it, he could have quoted the movie word for word in his sleep, but he wanted to enjoy it with those whom he loved. And he loved the movie. He loved it so much that, even though he obviously owned a copy, he would DVR it.
Glory was scheduled to come on in the afternoon--sometime around 2:30--on March 18, 2014. He programmed the DVR at some point before that time.
When my sister returned from shopping at the outlet mall at about 3:00 on March 18, 2014, she heard the Glory music coming from his room, which wasn't unusual.
But the song repeated.
And repeated.
And repeated.
An hour later, my dad found my brother dead on his closet floor with three bullets in his chest.
The Glory music was still playing.
Continued in AMDG - Part 2
