I don't have a picture to put at the top of this blog. I don't have words of wisdom, passed along by him, to help me deal with the things in life, a younger sibling follows the elder through. What I have is a mental image of a 39 year old giant, with a serious look on his face. In my mental image, he's packing up his life, three small children, and a dour wife, and flying off to Germany. A career Enlisted man, he's taking the family to Europe, for a long deployment with the US Army.
Fast forward about thirty-five years. The phone rings. From the handset, I hear another brothers' voice. I know it's bad news. This brother never calls unless he has bad news to pass along. When he says he's in El Paso, I know what that news is.
I was a pre-schooler when my third oldest brother, the veteran mentioned above, became an adult and no longer lived in our family home. He would occasionally stop by, but not for long, so I don't have fond memories of an older brother, that you'd expect a kid to have. He's been dying of cancer, in El Paso, for the last couple of years. Now, before the brother on the phone spoke, I knew the Texan had died.
This is not the time to air the strange relationship a couple of my brothers have had with we family members who've remained residents of upstate New York. I will say, that the soldier, and the brother who follows him, chronologically, on the branches of the family tree, decided decades ago, to separate themselves geographically, and emotionally, from the New York crowd.
I haven't seen him in over thirty-five years. His choice. Once, many years ago, I, my wife, and children, tried to visit him. We were a few blocks away from his home, with an evening to kill in Washington, DC. At that time, I hadn't seen him in nearly ten years. I called him. After a brief conversation, he said goodbye and gave me permission to call him again, if I was ever back in the area.
The brother calling with the bad news, and his wife, had taken a quickly arranged flight to Texas, the night before. He had been notified by one of the retired GI's children, that their dad had gone to the hospital. They thought that this would be his last trip.
I surmised, from events that subsequently unfolded, that my moribund sibling's progeny got quite a surprise, when they called their uncle to tell him their dad had died. Surprise! He was in El Paso, and was sorry he'd missed saying goodbye to his brother.
The reason I say that they were probably surprised by the news of his arrival, is that it seems that they didn't welcome his presence. My brother's voice was thick with disappointment that he was not being welcomed by my late brother's family. They wanted him to know that they had a grip on everything, and "the family" didn't need to do anything. It was soon learned that meant, even a family gesture of flowers for his funeral, would not be "necessary".
If I ever had any doubt, this set of circumstances drives home, that you truly do "reap what you sow". My brother is dead. I will never see him again. What he sowed was the seemingly uncaring attitude of his children. He most likely passed that, perhaps inadvertently, down to them. They will probably never realize, even if they read this, that a gesture made upon someone's death, is not for the dead person, and possibly not even their children. These postmortem gestures, are often to help the mourner deal with the loss, in their own way.
I have decided, that I'm going to deal with it my way. I'm going out and, buying a card of condolence. I'm mailing it this morning, and it will be received by my brother's children. His widow, I've just learned, is suffering extreme Alzheimer's Disease, so the children will be opening the mail. Then, I'm going to follow the obituaries from El Paso, and send flowers, if not to a funeral parlor, to my brother's home.
I feel no guilt, and the loss of my brother happened decades ago. My gestures will simply make me feel like I've said "goodbye", in some small way, to a brother whom I never really knew.
Fast forward about thirty-five years. The phone rings. From the handset, I hear another brothers' voice. I know it's bad news. This brother never calls unless he has bad news to pass along. When he says he's in El Paso, I know what that news is.
I was a pre-schooler when my third oldest brother, the veteran mentioned above, became an adult and no longer lived in our family home. He would occasionally stop by, but not for long, so I don't have fond memories of an older brother, that you'd expect a kid to have. He's been dying of cancer, in El Paso, for the last couple of years. Now, before the brother on the phone spoke, I knew the Texan had died.
This is not the time to air the strange relationship a couple of my brothers have had with we family members who've remained residents of upstate New York. I will say, that the soldier, and the brother who follows him, chronologically, on the branches of the family tree, decided decades ago, to separate themselves geographically, and emotionally, from the New York crowd.
I haven't seen him in over thirty-five years. His choice. Once, many years ago, I, my wife, and children, tried to visit him. We were a few blocks away from his home, with an evening to kill in Washington, DC. At that time, I hadn't seen him in nearly ten years. I called him. After a brief conversation, he said goodbye and gave me permission to call him again, if I was ever back in the area.
The brother calling with the bad news, and his wife, had taken a quickly arranged flight to Texas, the night before. He had been notified by one of the retired GI's children, that their dad had gone to the hospital. They thought that this would be his last trip.
I surmised, from events that subsequently unfolded, that my moribund sibling's progeny got quite a surprise, when they called their uncle to tell him their dad had died. Surprise! He was in El Paso, and was sorry he'd missed saying goodbye to his brother.
The reason I say that they were probably surprised by the news of his arrival, is that it seems that they didn't welcome his presence. My brother's voice was thick with disappointment that he was not being welcomed by my late brother's family. They wanted him to know that they had a grip on everything, and "the family" didn't need to do anything. It was soon learned that meant, even a family gesture of flowers for his funeral, would not be "necessary".
If I ever had any doubt, this set of circumstances drives home, that you truly do "reap what you sow". My brother is dead. I will never see him again. What he sowed was the seemingly uncaring attitude of his children. He most likely passed that, perhaps inadvertently, down to them. They will probably never realize, even if they read this, that a gesture made upon someone's death, is not for the dead person, and possibly not even their children. These postmortem gestures, are often to help the mourner deal with the loss, in their own way.
I have decided, that I'm going to deal with it my way. I'm going out and, buying a card of condolence. I'm mailing it this morning, and it will be received by my brother's children. His widow, I've just learned, is suffering extreme Alzheimer's Disease, so the children will be opening the mail. Then, I'm going to follow the obituaries from El Paso, and send flowers, if not to a funeral parlor, to my brother's home.
I feel no guilt, and the loss of my brother happened decades ago. My gestures will simply make me feel like I've said "goodbye", in some small way, to a brother whom I never really knew.
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