I started to write a post several times and deleted it. Why? This “topic” has invaded my brain space lately and won’t leave, but every time I start to write about it, it turns out sounding like an obituary…or a rant.
My older brother, D, is killing himself with vodka and everything else he can get his hands on. It’s like sitting at the train crossing, watching a train barreling past, and thinking surely the caboose will be coming along soon. How long can one train be?
M has a key to the house and checks in on D a few times a week. He passes the neighborhood on his way to and from work. We both expect for M to walk in one day and find D dead. Usually M walks in and finds D passed out on the couch or floor. D falls a lot.
So, well, D is never really sober because if he gets too sober, he has seizures. M wanted us all to get together for breakfast on Christmas Eve morning. It sounded like a bad idea, but M is lonely these days and holidays can be extra lonely for people who are alone in this world. I picked M up and we went to D’s house to assess him. D was expecting us and seemed sober enough to make a public appearance (i.e. he was able to stand up and move his feet). We helped him into and out of my car, took him into a restaurant, and ordered for him. We sat at the table and D looked around, obviously confused about where he was, and asked who died. M and I laughed and remarked how incredibly odd it seemed for us all to sit together in one place with no funeral going on.
|the end was already beginning|
In my mind, D is already dead. He is brain-damaged past recovery. He’s not been the brother I prefer to remember for almost 30 years. He’s had two near-death experiences in the past year. Even when he’s detoxed, the only thing on his mind is getting a bottle of vodka and some pills. Both times, he stopped on the way home from the hospital to get his boarding pass… to jump right back on that train.