Here I go again...the doorbell of death has once more rung and has taken away someone I care about. I guess I should have expected it, yet I didn't this time and I've struggled for a month to try and make some sense of it. Death, you see, doesn't really make sense at all, and I've had to learn that time and time again.
This time it was my brother who was called home to the Lord. I went to work on November 9th for a workshop and when I came home to have lunch with my husband, I came in the door and asked how he was doing. He didn't answer me, so I asked him again if everything was all right. He told me "not really," and said he would tell me what was going on once he came out of the bathroom. I immediately thought something along the lines of "Oh crap, I forgot to pay a bill," but didn't give it too much consideration. I went in to the kitchen to make lunch for us and I remember looking at the clock on the microwave. Someone ~ probably me - had forgotten to clear it out after nuking something earlier in the day and I went over to fix it so I could see what time it was. Just as I got there I heard the door to the bathroom open and my husband came out. I turned away from the microwave and asked him, "So what's up?" never dreaming that what he was about to tell me would alter my life forever.
He told me that my brother had died in his sleep the previous night, and that my sister in law had found him when she got up that morning to get ready to go to work. I will spare the reader all of the nasty details of my reaction to such news except to say that I screamed so loudly and for so long that by the end of the two hours it took to calm me down, I spoke in the raspiest of voices and could hardly catch my breath.
In the month that has followed, I am surprised to realize just how heavily his death has hit me. My brother wasn't the healthiest man on the planet, and he was obese for nearly all of his life. He had a penchant for avoiding the doctor and for obstinance when it came to taking care of himself. In a sense, both my younger brother and I expected this would happen at some time, but never now and certainly not like this. His sudden, unanticipated death caught all of us by surprise and sent everyone who knew him into a tailspin. Even now, a month later, we are still asking ourselves what happened and how it could be that this giant in our lives could be gone.
My brother was, I believe, a deeply wounded man. He never shared his demons with me so I can only guess at what haunted him all his life. And in the long run, it doesn't really matter. Despite his woundedness, my brother was a character. He tried to joke his way out of just about everything and he had a "sick" sense of humor. He knew how to make the worst ~ or best, depending on your viewpoint ~ puns of anyone I knew, and he always had a funny story to share. He was my protector in a number of ways, but he didn't want anyone to know that. Every time I needed him,he was there. Oh yes, sometimes he would bitch and moan, but I never had to ask twice or beg him when I needed him. My brother often dropped everything to take care of me, but he also took care of everyone else, too.
My brother wasn't much of a student but he was one of the brightest men I will ever know - and that's saying something. He wasn't much for school and what I grew up as calling "book learning," but when he started with his hobby of photography and video-making, and then had his own computer business, his work was excellent. He never charged people enough for the work he did, and when I told him that once, he let me know in no uncertain terms that he charged what he felt was fair and that he saw no reason to gouge people out of their money. He told me that he knew what people could afford and he wasn't going to ask for more.
My brother also knew how to get around me. When my niece was about 3 or 4 months old, he called me and asked if I wanted to come up and play with her, given that I hadn't seen her in about a week. I jumped at the chance to spend some time with her, so I drove up and was all set with a few new baby toys. When I arrived, however, poor kid was squalling and crying. I asked him what was wrong, and he shrugged and said, "Maybe she needs a change." I picked her up, and, well, let's just say she needed more than a simple change. I looked in horror at my brother and said some pretty ugly things to him - in between giggling, that is - and asked him why he didn't take care of it before I had arrived. His response was to look at me as innocently as he could without laughing and he replied that he had no idea she was in such a state.
Needless to say he never lived that down, and he also never pulled a stunt like that again. It wasn't the last time I ever changed a diaper, either. I think of that now and I think to myself that I wish I could share that story with him again, just to see that look of pseudo-innocence once more.
The problem with death, whether it's anticipated or not, is that it never comes at a good time. But with a little preparation, there is at least an opportunity to say the things that have gone too long unsaid. With an unanticipated death, though, there's so much left unsaid. So many of us trudge our way to the funeral home and the cemetery, numbed with grief and filled with regrets and wishes that we could have "just one more chance." But we're given only just so much time on this earth and it's times like this that we realize we'd damned well better use that time wisely. Tell one another you love them, that you appreciate one another, and remember that in spite of the warts we all have, every person who crosses our paths has something to teach. And if we're smart, we'll learn the lessons well and quickly. I know that I will see my brother again, and one day that will give me comfort. Right now, the sky in my heart is grey and cold but I know that the fog will lift, the sun will come out, and the winds of confusion and grief will calm. All I need is a little patience and a lot of faith. Thank God I have a lot of faith.
And now, Lord, about that patience...
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