My Brother's Keeper

I am writing this on June 23, 2014, and it is the 5th year since my brother 'transitioned' to Heaven.  I don't use the words 'died' or 'passed away' as much as I did before.  I don't believe the real us dies.  I believe we are spiritual beings who for a very short time (even if you live to be 110) are dwelling in physical bodies, clay vessels until it is time to return 'Home'.

I was the oldest of 4 children.  He was the youngest. I was born in 1951 and he was born 1956.  I wrote about some of our story and titled it, My Brother's Keeper, as the final chapter in my book, Transitions: A Nurse's Education About Life and Death.  Yes, it was the hardest chapter to write. I had kept a journal during those two previous years of his diagnosis, tests, hospital visits, chemo, radiation, his NDE a year before he transitioned, our conversations during car rides, etc.  Because I knew that one day I would have the courage to write about it. But at the time I would hurriedly post a daily entry if I had the time and close the notebook to avoid dwelling on it.  In my head it was as if there were bits and scraps of papers with all these memories floating in the air around me and falling on the floor of my consciousness with whispers of "no, not now, not yet...wait till later."

Just this morning I was remembering that morning 5 years ago.  I was staying with him at our Dad's home.  I had been spending the night with them for the previous 10 days. Daddy and I were up and down so much that night making attempts to get Jeffrey comfortable.  I was trying my best to keep him out of pain with the prescribed medications and to keep him comfortable with gently turning him from side to side when he continued to toss and turn or moan. There were moments he would seem to be settling down and breathing easier and then he would use all his strength and pull himself up.  At one point the night before he had done this and turned to me and smiled and said, "Are you a nurse? Are you staying with us?"

"Yes", I said, "I am spending the night with you. I won't leave." And with that he went back to sleep.

But this last night into the wee hours of the morning he struggled. I would whisper to him as I gently stroked his wrinkled brow, "Brother, it's OK to go. Mom will meet you. Look for the light. You are so loved, do not fear."

And then as morning arrived he simply quit the fight.

Those of you who have been there know what I mean when I say that I was filled with relief and heartbreak all in the same moment.  Relief that he wasn't suffering anymore and relief that someone else, his angels and others, on the other side were now my brother's keeper.  And yet, the letting go, the handing over his care, his protection, guiding his fight to live for especially those past 2 years was choking me in waves of tears and trying to be brave as I allowed raw grief to have her say.

I believe without a doubt we will spend much more time together some day.  I sense his presence often, not as much as in the beginning but he still checks in on me.  He still has a sense of humor.  He encourages me. He is so very happy.  And I believe also that he will be one of those in my 'welcome home' group when I make my transition!

Thank you Brother for the honor of being one of your big sisters! Today I will choose to remember the good times, the belly aching laughter, your love of animals, your curiosity about history and the universe, your pride in your daughter and the way you would light up when you got to see your grandchildren, your tenderness and your toughness, your love for your AA buddies and so much more!

You may have been the youngest of us 4 but in many ways you were the wisest!

Until we meet again!