Farewell

My brother, Gary, about 10 years ago, in the room where our dad was dying.

I got word this morning that my brother in Texas was in cardiac arrest. From what I had heard, he had been having a rough go of it of late. He had struggled with his health for quite a few years. He suffered a stroke some years ago that may have changed his personality some. He had been diagnosed some time ago with the kidney disease that killed his mother (we’re half brothers) and had received a transplant as a result, but that left him immuno-compromised. More recently, he’d been in a very bad car accident that required surgery, a lengthy hospital stay, and rehab. While hospitalized, he was diagnosed with colon cancer, and then got COVID. He apparently recovered from COVID and was in a rehab facility trying to build his strength back and was preparing for radiation and chemo for the cancer. Over the past few days, I’m told he was in a great deal of pain, though, and then this morning his heart stopped. Word was that he probably “wouldn’t make it.”

He didn’t.

Over the coming days I’ll try to do the work of processing, of feeling what I feel, of grieving. Our relationship, such as it was, was nearly non-existent. My mother, of course, was the woman our dad married very soon after his mother died, and my mother was not only my abuser, but I’m sure in ways I probably can’t understand, his too, though he was nearly done with high school by the time his mom died and my parents married. My brother and I disagreed about most everything, and I wrote about our difficult relationship here. As I look back on that post, I’m sure that I was less charitable than I could and probably should have been. I said that however I thought of him, I knew I needed to love him. I wrote about his less than stellar health and how I would process our relationship when he died. It seems that day has come.


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