We Shared a Rage

My brother died. Chronologically, age separated us by 12 years; spiritually, the distinctions faded. The most insightful words his now-widow ever spoke made reference to us being the same person.
I discovered that he had died because I thought, one day, out of the blue, that I would look him up. Google. Dead.
His wife/widow didn't tell us. An estrangement existed, but....
So he, being 12 years older than I, fulfilled some of the paternal functions, in the absence of a father. Took me to ballgames, took me fishing, took me to the movies. Then distanced himself, once a disciplinary component emerged from latency.
I understand more than anyone his interest in separation. Issues arose when Mom had a stroke. Issues simmered and then came to the fore during the intervening three years before stroke #1 and death.
He once told me he always had a desire to hurt himself or someone else. He risked my life at times. Perhaps no greater connection exists than the one in which another life feels like an extension of your own, equally worthy of putting at risk.
When my friend Dave died, I likened the trauma to losing a grizzly bear: I don't see them every day, but I like to know they're there. I liked knowing the person with whom I most closely shared experiences, my big brother, was still there, and I never thought we wouldn't reconcile. Our other brother pointed out to me that both of us, I and brother the eldest, lost our best friends.
And we shared a certain rage, just pure anger. Now I cope with it on my own.
How did you die, brother? Did you OD, as other brother suspects? Were you in a car accident?
So, my brother died...and i cry a lot.