Although Thor was convinced that time would not turn for him after his brother's death, it did. The slow, anguishing days turned into months and then years. The Allfather slipped away, and Thor took the throne. He was a wise and just and beloved king, in Asgard and among other realms. Yggdrasil grew healthy and exponentially.
The golden son, now golden king, refused to have his golden hair cut or restyled, instead having sorcerers place magic upon it to quell it's growth. Initially he called it grieving, but later wisdom let him call it love, a tribute to the last piece of his brother in the waking world. Sentiment, and honor.
An eon later, as the entirety of creation admired him, Thor met his end in battle, a careless misstep his deathblow. And the entirety of creation mourned as he lay on his deathbed, refusing healers.
"They have all left me," the King of Asgard claimed, "my wife, my parents, my dearest old friends..." he inhaled one last time, tears rolling down his cheeks, "my brother, I-"
And he passed on with his brother on his lips, as his brother had done for him all those years ago.