We arrived home from Italy on a Friday early this month. Five days later, the Sacramento coroner called to tell Mike his youngest brother JJ had been found dead in his apartment. We hadn’t seen him in years.

The brothers were bereft when Mike’s parents died weeks apart in 2008; however, JJ took it the hardest. At the time, he lived on the same property as his parents, managing a small vineyard and eating meals with his folks. He never fully launched, even though he was in his early forties.

After settling the affairs, he moved to Sacramento and cut off his entire family, including his brothers, cousins, nieces, and nephews. We collectively reached out over time, but he changed his email address and phone number and didn’t respond to physical mail. I had the local police do a welfare check in the early days, and they called and said he was okay.

Learning of his death last week has torn the bandage off a deep wound. Compounding the loss, we discovered he’d been living in squalor and warned many times to clean up his place or face eviction. He had sufficient financial means to buy his own place, yet chose a different path. His apartment manager was under the impression that he had no family, unaware of our attempts to make contact. We’re devastated.

Mike’s middle brother met us at the apartment on Saturday so we could collect paperwork, personal effects, and keys to JJ’s car, mailbox, and storage unit. The investigator sealed the apartment when he left on Tuesday, but someone let themselves in the following day and took my brother-in-law’s car, further complicating an already challenging situation. We had been warned of the apartment’s condition, so I bought protective gear in advance, including respirator masks, heavy-duty gloves, and shoe coverings. We had no way to prepare, however, for the smell.

I uncovered a dead rat in the first hour. More followed. The stench of spoiled food, rat urine, and cigar ash permeated every corner. Sadness and dismay, anger, and grief hung in the air. At one point, I kneeled on a plastic lid to gather coins that had fallen to the floor. A giant rat darted out from its cover, raced by my leg, and took refuge under a stack of crates.

Bone-weary and filthy, we retreated to a hotel and later a meal. It’s been a lot to process.

We returned home on Sunday, eating junk food for dinner in the car and taking another round of showers. Mike continues to be repulsed by the terrible stench that permeates everything, so I spent Monday airing out the paperwork we retrieved, placing framed pictures in a plastic bag, and taking the washed coins I gathered from the apartment floor to Coinstar, donating the proceeds to the Red Cross.

When I close my eyes, images of the apartment appear. I’m a professional organizer by trade, so I’ve seen this before; however, it’s another story when it’s family.

Meanwhile, we await the autopsy results. When finalized, the medical examiner will release JJ’s remains to the Neptune Society for cremation. A professional team emptied the apartment of debris, and the highway patrol will continue investigating the missing car.

JJ’s death leaves us with multiplying losses: what is and what might have been. Two brothers are devastated with profound grief and a sadness that won’t soon disappear.

JJ and Olga (my mother-in-law)1968 and 1995, Francini brothers and nephews, wedding party (JJ as best man), Thanksgiving, 2008.