April 6,1954 was the day my mother gave birth to her first child. Born in Las Vegas Nevada the son of an Air Force Lieutenant, he was named David after our dad.
I am in Ft. Lauderdale. I have been very busy with renovations on a property here. I was supposed to fly home today. I have yet to leave. Travelous interupptus.
No not an airline mishap nor a renovation glitch. Family matters.
David has been sick for many years and is now in end stage liver disease. David is the oldest of us three boys. I am the youngest. David is only 62.
I got the call from my sister-in-law this morning before I was to head to the airport to fly home. David isn’t expected to live past the weekend. Internal bleeding.
Early in the morning I will now be flying to Newark, then Dulles and finally in the mid afternoon I arrive in my hometown to be with my mother.
I had to call her today with the news. It isn’t easy telling your 84 year old mother that it looks like her son will die this week. This week marks one year since her husband of 62 years left us.
My middle brother is in Italy on holiday. He’s due home the end of this week. Mom needs one of us now. I’m closer and don’t have to clear customs.
I’m tired. I’ve been on the phone all day. I’ve cried. I walked on the beach. I had a good dinner alone overlooking the ocean. I’ve planned and changed plans. I’ve gotten confused. I’ve consoled. I’ve communicated.
He’s my big brother. We aren’t real close. As a boy I wanted to be like him in many ways. He was popular, athletic and handsome. Alcoholism took all of that away from him.
I now live as a sober younger brother. I am confused, frightened, angry, empathetic, and powerless. I’m grateful that I found a way out. I’m bitter that many who succumb to addictions don’t make it out. I understand the ones who don’t find a way out, as I was once there. I am one of the lucky ones.