A Cruel Twist of Fate

Friday, October 30, 2009

One of the things that will always stand out in my mind about my father is his willingness - his need, actually - to drop everything to go to a funeral for a family member - no matter how distant the relation. It has left my mother shaking her head more than once how he would jump in the car and drive six or seven hours to Kentucky for the funeral of a cousin. It isn't hard to explain if you know him well enough to know how deep his sense of duty runs. But if you know him as well as I do you have to admit that there is more to the story.

My brother died today. Michael was my father's first born and though he has spent the better part of his life many, many miles from us, today is the first day he is truly gone. I was born one week to the day before Mike's 22nd birthday. The years and distance between us kept us from ever being close. But the older we got the more evident it became - to both of us - during our occasional visits that it was only an accident of fate that we weren't closer.

When I was growing up, my oldest brother was more of an idea - an ideal, really - than a presence in my life. A blank canvas that I could paint onto what I wanted. Even as I grew to know him for who he was, I still remember vividly the hero I made him in my mind. In a way, that is the story of his life. Perhaps it is a story common to some degree to the eldest sibling in any family - my father included. His intellect, athleticism, good looks and self-confidence made it that much more natural that we would all dump our hopes, our values into him. It was a burden that stifled him and eventually caused him to strike out on a path that would take and keep him apart from us. He was the prodigal son.

When he returned it was an event. And with each return visit - right up to his last - just eight weeks ago - it was amazing to me - amazing - how he had shed the baggage of his past. Who does that at the age of 62? Don't you just at some point decide "this is my baggage and I'll carry it?" He could have stayed away. He could have harbored bitterness and resentment. Instead he let those things go and let us see the man he really was rather than the one we would have him be. That man may not have lived up to the image I created in my head and heart, but I would have liked to have had more time to get to know him.

When my father was just shy of his 12th birthday his mother died in child birth. His mother remains to this day one of the single, greatest influences on his life. He was not allowed to attend her funeral. At 22 he was in Italy during the war when his younger brother, Denville, died. They had gone through a lot together growing up - especially after their mother’s death. He could not be there for his funeral. When he was in Germany 12 years later he got word that his father had died. Though it was not unexpected there was no way to make it home for his funeral.

The last couple of days he has read the paper and been pretty alert. All-in-all he is as good as he has been in weeks. He remains bedridden but at this rate there may even be a chance that he will soon be able to transfer to a wheelchair with minimal aid. Only time will tell. But despite that he suffered a loss today. A loss that I had presumed - consciously even - that he would be spared at this point. The loss of a child.

When Michael was here in August we all came to see him. My sister, Sharon, brother, David and I all came to my parents' house to visit with him and my dad. We always make it a point to get group photos during these visits and this was no exception. Even then, before my dad had an acute bout of congestive heart failure, it was hard not to think this would be the last time we would all be together. It didn't hang over us like some melancholy cloud of despair or anything like that. But the feeling was palpable just the same.

"Am I going to need to buy a new suit?" Michael asked my sister referring to what seemed to be our next inevitable family gathering. I like to think of myself as a bit irreverent. But I couldn't hold a candle to Mike. My brother died today. And my dad will not be able to go to his funeral.