My brother Mike was two years older than me.
He took me fishing. We watched t.v. Together and he would let me just hang out with him while he built a tree house or tried to save the life of a dying baby squirrel fallen from its nest. The role I assumed was to observe him mostly. He wasn't much for talking, had a quick temper and a low tolerance for stupidity and cowardice. But I cared about him very much and he seemed to know and appreciate this.
Eventually he took to the streets and acted like he didn't like his family anymore. He couldn't connect with us. He seemed to resent me for not being like him (?) He was mean and had issues. I didn't like him anymore either.
Years later after he came home from the war, he was in and out of the veteran's hospital for mental illness. He would stay in his bedroom all the time and become violent toward my folks. They had to call the police over and over again and he would be dragged off and taken to veteran's hospital. It was a horrid scene replayed again and again.
Once when I was at my folks visiting it was happening yet again. The police came in and headed up to his room. I sat in the living room and with all my might pictured him going with them voluntarily without a struggle. I sent as best I could, a silent message that he should be at peace and not struggle. And he did just that. It sounds like nothing as I write this down but at the time I felt in my heart that I was able to reach him in my thoughts and wishes. The memory never fades.