Peace Out

My oldest brother died. The only thing worse than him dying is watching him die over the last two weeks. Cancer does that, I guess; take over, reduce a man to nothingness all too fast and not fast enough.

He knew about the cancer for almost two years. Never bemoaned his situation. Never forced sympathy. Just told it like it was.

Those phone calls. “Jimmy, I tell ya, it doesn’t look good.” I can see him shaking his head, a knowing half-smile, as if he was talking about a baseball game, with the home team down by five runs in the ninth. It was almost casual, accepting.

He would not impose his misfortune upon anyone.

The last day. Watching my mom holding his hand, her head down upon the hospital bed. Waiting for his death.

I know he will live on, especially in my children. As much as my parents raised me, so did he. Twelve years older than me, yet he still hung out with me, played with me, made me part of his world. He’s in his twenties, and he’s taking his elementary school brother to the beach. Coming to my school plays. Playing catch. Badminton. Everything.

He always kept himself at my level when I was a kid. Something I have tried to always do with my kids. For those who know the kind of relationship my kids and I have, well, now you understand where it came from. I had one hell of a teacher.

And I have a hell of a lot of very good and dear friends. Those who came to the services, who sent flowers and cards, invited me over; those in my present and even those from deep in my past who came from nowhere to console and support. I cannot overstate how much I appreciate their thoughts, and especially the effort they made for me and my family. Many did not even know my brother; they did it for me. I am deeply grateful.

I have my summer journey planned to San Antonio. I am going to be my kids’ roadie as they play Warped Tour. We are making plans to take in the Rancid show in NYC in August. The seasonal heat means plenty of beach trips. My new XBOX360 keeps me amused. The guys in the band are wonderful; supportive, united lunatics who make Thursday night sessions the best night of the week. I have a gift of five pounds of beloved Twizzlers to plow through.

If it wasn’t for Philip and the precious time he gave me, I could very well be coming home from work, floundering sweaty on a sofa, complaining about the price of gas to the cat and a disinterested wife between desperate swallows of pride; old before my time.

~~~~~~~~~

After such a long stretch of rain, it was so sunny the week he passed away. Contrasting weather and emotions. Disbelief and rationalizations. Skip Little League baseball practice, get into his Triumph Spitfire, and Misquamicut Beach is less than two hours away. Never again and never forget.