Something 2

I lived for 30 years with two brothers. And I’ve lived, now, for 6 with only one. The day my brother Victor died, one of the first things I thought about was what I would say when someone eventually asks me how many siblings I have. It’s a stupid detail. I knew that at the time. Yet, it has more or less been on my mind since that day.

I ran out of the hospital room Vic was in because, apparently, he was about to die. Now that I’ve had some time to think about it, I believe I’d ideally want all the people I love in the room with me when I die. But that day, I felt certain that Vic would want me to do whatever I want. I’m still not super sure which is right and I’ve come to terms with the fact that it really doesn’t matter at all. He was unconscious (whatever that really means) when it happened. I couldn’t watch anything involving a hospital on television for months. The blips and beeps and, especially, those long, lingering tones made my skin tingle and my bones ache.

As I headed back to the waiting room full of my extended family, I was texting my best friend. I wanted her to tell me I didn’t have to be in the room and she did. I didn’t get very far in my flight. Very soon after I walked out, my sister-in-law (not Vic’s widow) came for me. She, as most people do, felt I’d want to be there. But by the time I got back in, that tone was toning. And hysteria had already replaced fear as the prime force of the room. Everything was broken. No one in the room knew what they were anymore. Or how they could be something other than what they had been 1, 10, a thousand minutes earlier. A wife. Parents of 3 adult children. The oldest brother. A sister to 2. A medical resident caught by surprise.

We all cried – even the young doctor. We couldn’t have done anything else. Our minds and bodies shut down and the only thing we could produce were hot tears and short breath. But once I could, I fled again. I walked as far away from that part of my life as I could and found the closest outside I could escape to. It was a sunny day in October and I stood under a turning tree. Breathing, being mad that I could still breathe. Being confused. I sent a text letting people outside of the hospital know what had happened. I thought that was important.

I cried alone and thought about the new stain on everything. The clothes I was wearing. New Haven. Sunny fall days. All of these things would be a reminder of the Worst Thing That Ever Happened.

I started to feel bad about not thinking about my brother. His empty body and his full life. But, you know, when something that terrible happens I have to tell you, you don’t really have to go out of your way ot think about it.