I’m Not Ready to Lose a Sibling
Every chapter in the book of life carries significance.
I am no stranger to the death of friends and loved ones.
I have been an orphan by definition since the deaths of my parents more years ago than I care to count. My first husband succumbed to an ugly death from leukemia when I was thirty-seven years old. My parents both came from large depression era families — there was always a funeral or two every year of my youth, with grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins meeting their deaths.
I have lost co-workers, classmates (three of the four class officers in my high school graduating class did not live to see their thirtieth birthdays!), friends and neighbors.
So, as I said, I am no stranger to death.
And yet, as I sit here with the knowledge that my brother, ten years my senior, has been given an “extremely poor prognosis” covering a myriad of serious, life-threatening issues, I am carrying the weight of a heavy heart that seems to sit solidly in the pit of my stomach.
There is no chapter in the book of my life that does not carry at least a shadow of this accomplished, generous and talented man.
As a teacher, he touched the lives of his students who, even two decades after his retirement, still correspond and reach out to help at times when he has needed it.
He dealt patiently and kindly with an ailing wife who needed care and attention above and beyond the usual commitments of matrimony. He was steadfast to the end of her life.
He honored our parents with his presence, assistance and love — over and over again.
He was there when he was needed. During my years of widowhood before meeting my current husband, he was a regular dinner companion — and, as a bit of a self-proclaimed chauvinist, he always paid for dinner.
Can I continue to live my life without him?
Sure, I suppose I can. Life has made me strong — and hard.
Will there be a hole that remains long after he leaves this life for whatever awaits him beyond this world (he has a belief system that, I believe, is stronger and more traditional than my own)?
You bet there will be a vacant space.
My heart and soul are starting to resemble Swiss cheese — with holes poked here and there by the shrapnel of living a life peppered with good and precious people who are no longer with me.
I will go on — I don’t doubt my ability to survive.
Each loss I have experienced in my life has made me more determined to embrace life and those who occupy my world with a greater understanding, appreciation and — this is critical — Awareness — of how precious each moment, each experience, each conversation — will be in the treasure chest of my life.
Two weeks ago, my husband and I were enjoying the sunshine of Barbados — confident in the belief that everything back home was moving along smoothly.
Today, my knowledge of a rather desperate medical situation with a man who is losing ground daily reminds me, yet again, that life is fragile — and precious — and fleeting.
Life can change — quickly. Twenty-four hours from now, you may not even recognize your world.
I know. I’ve been down that road a few times. I am on that road again.
All I can say here is this — look around you. Embrace what is good. Squeeze hard. Don’t let go.
Don’t let go . . .
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