It is a limbo of conversation and caresses in which we linger
Silence
Waiting
He talks through numbness and the fog of Dilantin
Pupils like pinpricks, his eyes search, focus, lock.
Thank you, he says, I love you
Thank you, again and again.
We stop him, say
“You don’t have to thank us,
“We love you,” say,
“We couldn’t be anywhere else but here.”
We don’t want him to waste his energy
On unnecessary gratitude.
Though understanding his impulse,
I still wince a bit
Being thanked for my presence
Reminds me of how lackadaisical I’ve become
How engrossed in my own busy life
Always counting on our easy rapport and quick reconnection
Sometimes allowing months to pass without a phone call
I have been unforgivably remiss, inattentive, glib
I have taken too much for granted
As much as I love my brother I haven’t been there
I haven’t touched him
held him
talked with him
not enough, not nearly enough
I haven’t laughed with him as much as I should
(not pressing should, not obligation should, not guilt should)
Should because I want to, because my own heart loves it
Should because he is my brother
My sweet-faced,
Green Machine riding,
wheelchair wheelie tolerating,
count-to-ten standing
surf-launched, bloodshot-eyed, snot-blowing
walker-wielding, Kiss concert lip-synching,
whip-smart,
joke-sharing,
concert-loving,
trivia-unleashing,
resilient,
tough-as-nails,
encyclopedic
big-hearted
funkie-uncky
brother….
Because we shared our first two decades intimately
Because we can quote the same dialogs
Sing the same songs
Conjure up different sides of the same memory
Who else can do that?
Last Friday
five words stole my air,
collapsed my joints,
shot fear through my belly,
unleashed torrents from my eyes
“Your brother had a stroke.”
On the drive north I beseeched gods I thought I had dismissed
Frightened my children with uncharacteristic sobbing,
could not tolerate their chatter
Upon hearing I was desperate to be near my brother
To hold him, feel him near me
To kiss and stroke his face
Offer a counterpoint of love and strength
To the pain, fear and confusion he must feel
I sought to know, through seeing him, that he would recover
I needed my own reassurance and grounding
Accepting thanks, then, felt wrong,
cheap
As though I were providing a service
When I was there as much for me as for him
What brought me , flying, to his bedside
was my own need to hold him near
I came to understand his urgency to convey love and thanks
during three days of exchange,
found that Dylan had been deeply affected
that he felt
through the clouding and disorientation of meds,
the tangle of lines, and
the indignities of hospital protocol,
the presence and love of so many.
He felt the closeness of death and its reprieve,
sensed the terror it evoked in all of us,
saw our horror at the impossible thought of losing him.
His gratitude, in the face of such an outpouring, was profound
Perhaps he felt that it could not be conveyed in even a thousand thank yous
So he carried on past that number,
still carries on.
We humans tend towards complacency,
forgetfulness
A harried existence
Do we need occasional crises to regain perspective?
To remember what and who matter most?
Must we be shocked, body and soul
in order to stop our constant running,
To slow instead,
to settle near those we love,
to savor them?
I relish this chance to know my brother more deeply,
to share not just a past but a present,
to love him,
and be loved by him
daily
I love you, Dylan.
