I come from a
small town in Central Ohio. I don’t
visit much. It can be somewhat
depressing, since it’s decline in the 80’s.
But my roots begin there.
The speed limit
throughout the entire town is 35 miles per hour; sometimes 25. Considering the small size of the city, it’s
a wonder why anyone would drive a car.
It seems more fitting to ride a bicycle or maybe a scooter.
The roads are
full of holes from the winter freeze and lost dreams of decay stand abandoned to
remind all of what was to be. And my
friends are just as lost and rejected as the town itself. There is no growth, just a slow death of
intoxication and coffin nails hidden behind the smoke. Drugs, dogs and death, said my mom.
I love my
family. I use to dream that one day I
would return home and save the town. But
when I visit, I never cry when I leave. I
make tracks. Life is much more
attractive from a facebook perspective of pretty holiday photos of brightly lit
colors; a lot of Sloopy red. And that’s
how I hang that hat.
But when a love
one tugs at those roots that connect my heart to my feet, I follow the trail I
made and I make my way back. And that’s
just what happened, when my brother David went into a coma, and the doctors
declared there was nothing more that they could do for him.
David is my half
brother; my dad’s son. He’s eleven years
younger than I, and he has had a cyst on his brain for sixteen years now. Statistically, he should have died six years
ago.
This past year
has been very difficult for David. He
has had at least three brain surgeries, due to new cyst/tumors; he’s been
treated for prostate cancer and liver cancer; he’s had kidney problems; he
broke his hip due to falling at home, and while he was in Intensive Care at
O.S.U. Medical, he fell out of his bed and broke his other hip, within days of
the first break; and he has stroked out two or three times now - all within a
year.
But, David blew
the doctors away. David cheated death,
and I blazed my way back to Ohio grateful to see a living being and not a
corpse in a box.
A little family
history – David doesn’t share my last name, even though by all rights, he
should, but our father, for personal reasons, would have nothing to do with
David, other than paying child support.
When David was a
child, he skipped school and walked to our dad’s shop just to see him. I don’t think it went over well from what
David had told me. To this day, I can’t
even begin to imagine my dad denying me, in front of the same employees where
he prided me as the one most like him; the thought alone shatters my heart.
Although I had
very limited contact with David, when he was a child, we became close after dad
passed away. I was just as much of an
outcast as David, especially after my father’s passing.
For example, my
other two siblings have met David, but they have never pursued a relationship
with him. His name most likely wouldn’t
be spoken and contact would have never been made, if it wasn’t for me. I make a point of keeping them abreast of
David’s condition, because David is family too, and I’m not going to allow them
to erase his existence, as if he had never happened.
My brother is
not an ugly mistake that should be hidden.
 |
| Dad on the Left - David on the Right |
Dad actually
tried to contact David a month before he passed away. He left David a message, referring to his
self as “dad.” But as you can imagine,
David was in no hurry to return the phone call, and time ran out sooner than he
thought. That was in 1996.
Within the six
years after David and I reconnected, I had introduced him to cousins and aunts that
we shared through our father. But then I
moved to Florida, and shortly afterwards, David was diagnosed with a brain
tumor. Because of his condition, David no
longer traveled. Between radiation,
chemo, and all the other stuff that goes along with being a cancer patient, he stayed
in Ohio to be close to his doctors.
So I’m
excited. I haven’t seen David in quite
awhile. It’s a twelve hour drive from
Pensacola to Columbus, and I’ll do it in a day. It is always breathtaking awe when I twist and
roll down the hills of Kentucky on I-71 Northbound and get first sight of Cincinnati.
Ah, heavy sigh of relief; Buckeye Nation
at last!
As soon as my
tires hit the bridge that crosses the Ohio River, my radio rocks AC/DC’s, “Back
in Black.” A tear came to my eye, and I
thank the ancestors for their company on this journey. Then a flock of birds flew over the car as
they came towards me, from right to left; too many to count. It was a really cool moment to say the
least. “A thousand ancestors,” I said
to myself. Then the song, Jamie’s Cryin’
(by Van Halen) confirmed and sealed the moment to be shared later.
And when I was
finally at my bothers side, and I reached down to kiss him on the forehead, I felt
those same ancestors surge through my feet upward, and from my lips they kissed
David with me.
The second day I
seen David, he looked much better and we actually laughed as we visited.
It has been six
weeks since my trip to Ohio, and David has been in the hospital twice since
then. On May 7th, we were
told that the left side of David’s brain herniated into the right side. The David I knew is gone. It has been three days, and he is unresponsive.
Today, as
I sit on my back porch, a small feather falls from the sky, from right to left,
and I am reminded, “A thousand ancestors.”
Two cardinals dance and play
along the fence line as I imagine the joy of such a homecoming. I can
think of no one more deserving. What was
lost on Earth, will found in the next life.
It has
been such a blessing and an honor to call David my brother. Much
love brother.
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