Brother

When the baby was about three weeks old, I got a call from the Emergency Department of a hospital in a neighboring county.  My brother had been in a motorcycle accident and was about to go into surgery for internal bleeding.  I had been like a momma to him most of our lives.  Our mom is mentally disabled, but none of her four children knew it until she came to live with me when we were all adults.  Growing up, we lived with various grandparents – my older, full sister with our dad’s parents; my younger half-brother and half-sister (of a different dad) with my mom’s parents; and me with our maternal great-grandmother until she died when I was twelve, then I went to live with my full-sister and paternal grandparents.  None of us had typical childhoods, but my brother and younger sister had the toughest circumstances, it seemed.  There was a time when my grandparents felt they were too old to adequately care for a young boy and young girl.  My mom had a sister who my grandparents thought could better provide for and care for young children, so all of my brother’s and sister’s things were packed, and they moved across the country.  My young heart was broken, but I tried to understand.  

It turned out that it was easier to understand the reason behind their going to the aunt than it was to understand her sending them back to my grandparents.  I’m sure there were details I didn’t know as a child, but I have always hurt for my brother and sister and prayed that they didn’t feel unwanted.  I certainly wanted them to come home, and my grandparents did too.  PawPaw and Granny loved them immensely.   

I saw my little brother and sister often until my great-grandmother passed, and I moved to another town.  After that, we saw each other for special occasions or sleep-overs mostly.  There was a time, however, a few years later, when my brother went through a defiant stage, and my grandfather turned him out.  My brother called me, asking if I knew where Momma was because he needed somewhere to go.  Most of the time, no one knew where Momma was.  We didn’t even have a number to try to locate her, so my paternal grandparents – of no relation to my brother – sent my sister and me to go get him to come live with us.  

He did remarkably well for a while — on the honor roll, playing football, making friends, making us laugh.  After a while though, he decided that he didn’t like the strict rules of my grandparents’ house, and he went looking for Momma.  He found her and moved in with her, then after a while, the two of them circled back to PawPaw and Granny’s house.  From there, my brother made some bad choices, quit school, moved out of state to work, and got into a lifestyle that would plague him for years.  I was the person he would call when he needed advice, money, or a place to stay.  A few times, he lived with my husband and me and our kids.  He was a good person who had a bad problem.  I helped him get into rehab several times, but eventually he saw that it was his decision and will-power alone that could keep him clean.  

When the ER nurse called me that day about my brother’s wreck, I had no idea the circumstances.  At that point, they didn’t matter.  They never mattered.  I loved him despite his issues.  I had always made a way to be there when he needed me, but I didn’t see how I was going to be there this time, when I had a three week old baby and three other kids, and my husband was gone.  I contacted my sisters.  One was out of state on vacation, but the other could go in my place to the hospital.  

My brother came through surgery just fine, was stable in recovery, and moved to a room.  He was sleeping, and all vital signs were good when my sister left for the night.  A few hours later, the hospital called her to come quickly because my brother’s status had changed.  Thankfully, I was awake often during the night to nurse the baby, so I saw her message.  I got in touch with my best friend, who came to stay with my kids, and I drove to the hospital.  My brother had been moved to the intensive care unit after being found unresponsive and getting CPR on the medical floor.  When they allowed us to see him, I knew he likely did not have long to live.  His vitals were not good.  He was not responding neurologically,  indicating he had likely gone too long without oxygen before the staff found him unresponsive.  I didn’t know if he started bleeding from the internal surgical site before CPR or if CPR caused the bleeding, but his blood count numbers and distended abdomen told me something was not right.  The concerned tone and look on the nurse’s face urged me to get my Momma there and get my baby sister on the road home from vacation.  

ICU visiting hours sent us to the waiting area, where I made calls then fell apart.  A friend from church was going to bring Momma, and my sister started the six or so hour drive home.  I was losing my brother, and I wanted my husband there to support me as he had during the loss of my four grandparents and other loved ones during our fifteen year marriage.  I had called him during the night to come stay with the kids, but when he didn’t answer, I woke my best friend.  I knew he might not answer again or might not come, but I had to try.  I needed him.  When I finally got through to him, I did not leave the conversation with any hope that he would come, so when he walked into the waiting room some time later, my shock sent me rushing into his arms with tears that were a mixture of heartbreak for my brother and joy and relief that my husband was there. 

At the next visiting time, they allowed all of us – my mom, my older sister, my husband, and me – in at once.  A nurse met us to prepare us that my brother was further declining, and as she spoke, I could see past her that other staff were rushing to start another round of CPR.  My husband turned me and my momma into his body to shield us from such an awful sight, and the rest of the day went downhill from there.  We were asked to decide whether to stop measures to keep my brother alive and whether to make him DNR (do no resuscitate) status.  This is an awful thing to determine for your loved one.  After witnessing the trauma of CPR on his body, I did not want to imagine him going through that again when it was making no positive change in his status.  But with my sister en route and wanting badly to say her goodbyes to him, I didn’t want to tell them to stop efforts either.  

Thank the merciful Lord that He knew our hearts and kept my brother from needing more CPR before my sister got there.  Sadly though, once she was there, the doctors asked again what course of action to take.  We could all see that there was no life in my brother’s precious body.  If he was going to respond to anyone, it would have been my little sister.  I was the momma-sister.  She was the hang-out-and-have-a-good-time sister.  They had been close their entire lives.  When he did not respond to her touch or voice, I think a little part of all of us died because we knew that my brother would not want to suffer this way.  

The doctors told us that once they stopped life support, my brother would likely pass quickly.  We decided to take a few minutes, and I went to pump milk and relieve my great physical discomfort before we waited with my brother for him to leave this world.  My husband had been the support I needed throughout the day, but when I returned to the waiting area after pumping, I found he was gone.  To this day, I am not sure what happened while I was in that bathroom stall pumping – whether there was another call or conversation that called my husband to other priorities…or maybe the emotional strain was part of what he wanted to leave two months prior and he just couldn’t bear any more…or what really.  Whatever the reason, he was gone and I was left to face this awful reality without his presence.  

My sisters and my sister’s husband, my mom, and I returned to ICU and told my brother how very much we love him and would miss him.  I believe my little sister may have also fussed at him, and I thanked him for getting my husband to do more for me that day than in the months prior.  We watched as his heart rate slowed, his blood pressure dropped, and his oxygen level dwindled with each slow, shallow breath…until he passed from this life to Glory.  

Oh, my heart.  How I ached.  I had lost my husband and my brother in two short months.  I had a baby girl who wouldn’t have a daddy at home but also would never know the joy of her Uncle Donnie.  I had boys who loved their crazy uncle and would be devastated that they couldn’t see or play with him anymore.  I had a momma grieving and two sisters who were hurting – one who blamed herself for being gone out of town.  She wasn’t alone in blaming herself.  I so badly regretted not calling my friend over sooner and going to stay the night with my brother at the hospital.  Even knowing that there is nothing any of us can do to change God’s timing when He’s ready to call someone home, I would feel better if I had been there to at least try or to make sure my brother knew how very much I loved him or how very proud I was of him for being clean at the time of his accident, and according to what a coworker later told us, for a long time prior.  

I like to think that God made sure he knew.  I pray he knew.  I miss him so badly.  He may have called on me for help sometimes, but he was also one of the first to show up if I needed help.  The year prior, when I lost our baby boy to miscarriage, my brother came and cleaned my house, just as a demonstration of love, knowing that I like things clean but that I didn’t have the care to get out of bed and do it.  He could sense when I was upset and was the best at making me laugh.  I would love to laugh with him again.  

I delivered the eulogy at his funeral.  Looking back now, I have no idea how I had the physical strength to stand at that podium or the emotional strength to speak of his life to family and friends that day.  But God.  Without my husband or brother to lean on, I had to rely on God alone for my strength.  

I’ll close this blog with the closing to my brother’s eulogy, as it’s as true today as it was two years ago and true for mankind in general.  “He had his struggles…  But we all do in one form or another.  Good people can have bad problems.  Good people can make bad choices.  None of us are perfect.  That’s why we need grace.  That’s why we need a Savior.  I remember the time when Donnie accepted Jesus as his savior.  I remember his baptism.  I remember many conversations about God.  Some of his friends have told me about times he would be on his knees in prayer.  I cling to hope that I’ll see Donnie again one day.    Maybe he’ll do his goofy chicken wang stance and chase me around Heaven.  I praise God that in Heaven there are no more struggles, no more battles against the evil in the World.  I praise God that Jesus came to defeat evil and offer peace in this sin-fallen world.  I praise God that Jesus breaks the chains of sin and bondage and makes a way for us to have eternal life free from the shackles of this world. 

And I praise God that I had 35 years of life with my brother — this precious, big-hearted, goof-ball of a man who I will miss so terribly for the rest of my life.”