My Brother, Resting

April 7th, 12:10 am. First my brother said he would never use a cane, and then he started using a cane. He assembled a cane collection which he put near the fireplace. Then he said he’d never use a walker, and he started using a walker. Then he said he’d never use a wheelchair. Then he wasn’t strong enough to sit in a wheelchair.

When my brother was born, my mother used to joke that he was sure to make a lot of noise in the world, because he was so incredibly loud as a newborn. That proved to be true. He was very loud and liked a lot of bright colors and noise around him. I used to joke to myself that my brother was only quiet when he was sleeping. But that was in his younger days.

It was a nightmare when he had to go to the living hell of a nursing home. But staying at home became impossible. There was so much wrong with him. So many of his organs didn’t seem to work right, as if his body was slowly falling apart. Even so, when I visited him, he was concerned about me. When I brought him treats he was concerned I was spending too much money on him. He always asked me how I was and expressed concern when he thought I looked tired. From his permanent bed, which he ended up never leaving, he worried about me.

April 7th, 12:10 AM. When he arrived at his last nursing home and I met the chief administrator, she thought I was his son. That’s because even though I’m the older brother, he looked twenty years older than I was.

April 7th, 12:10 AM. The nurse was surreally cheerful. Then she left so I could say goodbye to my brother. I stood at the foot of his bed, so he could have the best chance of seeing me…even though he had gone blind, his eyes were still wide open. I spoke in a loud clear voice, even though I was told he had gone deaf. Then it just came out of me…three short sentences.

God Bless Our Parents

God Bless My Brother

God Help Me

Then I cried for a considerable time, as I’m crying now.

In his last days, my brother surprised me by expressing his sadness that his name would not be remembered.

That’s the reason for this essay: Harry Haritou Jr.