There are dozens of reasons Nature feels sad and angry and confused about her brother's death, but one trumps the rest: "On the news, they publicized that he was a violent offender and he went to jail for violent crimes, and it was never nothing like that," she says. "He wasn't a violent person at all. He was just like a genuinely good person."

"It's one thing to lose somebody under those circumstances," she continues. "But then when you're grieving and going through that, to have to see it all over the internet, it's unspeakable."

Over the last 18 years, Nature's family has shrunk from five to one. Now she's approaching 30, with two children and a solid job as a nursing assistant, but her home is full of urns. She shows me Jodon's, on a shelf in her dining room, next to a photo of him and a small pile of Jolly Ranchers — his favorite. She answers all of my questions openly, often through tears. But when she asks me a question — "Did you watch the chase?" — I stumble.

I was born and raised in Phoenix, but I was sitting at my desk in New York when I saw the first tweets about a car chase in Arizona. I began tuning in while Romero was still on the westbound I-10 — a stretch of highway I've spent an ungainly amount of my life driving. I watched him swiftly switch lanes and narrowly pass semi-trucks on the shoulder, and I thought of every time I'd seen a frustrated driver pull the same hasty moves on that long, dull desert road (albeit without a dozen patrol cars following them). Yes, I watched the chase. Yes, I saw its awful conclusion.

But I also reported on it. I wrote about Fox's mistake, and uploaded a video of Fox's mistake, and helped make Fox's mistake go viral. How do you tell a grieving sister that? Because of a "severe human error," thousands watched her brother die in real time, but because of you, hundreds of thousands watched it later?

You tell her the truth. And then you listen as she tells you about her brother — about all the details that weren't on the news that day. About his personality (always laughing), his hobbies (remodeling his house), his five children (the oldest is 15, the youngest was born in March), and his funeral. (A formal church ceremony, then a more casual memorial. They played Tupac.)

Car chases can be thrilling to follow, but they're often consumed with little context. When we watch a chase, we never really know the full details of how or why it began. Shepard Smith didn't know the man he called a "dingbat" had no history of violent crimes. The scores of people watching the chase didn't know Romero was a father of four with a baby on the way. I didn't know Romero had lost all but one of his relatives by the time he was 21.

Before I leave her house, I ask Nature what she would say to the people responsible for airing — and sharing — her brother's death, if they were, say, sitting cross-legged on her couch right now.

"They can never know the kind of impact that leaves, the lasting impression on us."

Her voice is charged, but her expression is exhausted.

"To see my brother shoot himself and to see him fall down — that's embedded in my head forever."