I SHOULDA BEEN A BETTER BROTHER.......
They are all dead now. My father died first, his cantankerous nature I suppose, the booze didn't help. He's buried, alone, in a graveyard behind the Sheriff's office in Yuma, Arizona.
Then, my Mom died - slowly. Dimentia. I hated that damned thing. I couldn't believe how that thing ate her memory, her civility inside a version of a desert gulag. There was a street, quiet and tree lined in Yuma, filled with Hospice care centers - small, gently painted houses where you check in.
Mom died in a large nursing home in the middle of that block.
A year later, my kid sister contracted breast cancer, diagnosed as fatal, and checked in, right across the street from where Mom died, and within five weeks, Pat, my onliest kid sister, passed peacefully away.
I guess big brothers always come to feel this way, but we both came from stuffy second floor walk ups in south Philadelphia run by a father, drunk on power, anger or booze, a mother on shift work at a local hospital - charge nurse at one of a dozen hospitals in Philly, and my kid sister and I forever figuring out a way to stay out of the path of flying objects.
We walked together to the same schools, ate lunch together, most times, and when she was hassled by over bearing boys, I stepped in when I could. She was a startlingly beautiful redhead who knew nothing about boys, dating, love, relationships and sex. Often questioning me about same, I tried to objectively 'splain things to her, but I think that turned her off to dating more than turned her on.
During High School, she rarely dated at all. During the four years there, she won 6 varsity letters. I got one. When we buried her, I felt a deep sense of guilty that I never did enough for her, with her to back her up during those years. We had the usual brother and sister fights, but I did not tell her enough times that I loved her, and I did. She was precious to me and I took her for granted.
When she needed me, I came to help, more than once. I heeded her call for help, and, if she did it again, I'd be there. I have one vast sea of surging regret when it comes to Pat, my sister. I should have listened to her more than I did, paid more attention to her word, given her more credit than I did.
I shoulda been a better brother. And when I see her in heaven, I'm going to tell her that.
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Then, my Mom died - slowly. Dimentia. I hated that damned thing. I couldn't believe how that thing ate her memory, her civility inside a version of a desert gulag. There was a street, quiet and tree lined in Yuma, filled with Hospice care centers - small, gently painted houses where you check in.
Mom died in a large nursing home in the middle of that block.
A year later, my kid sister contracted breast cancer, diagnosed as fatal, and checked in, right across the street from where Mom died, and within five weeks, Pat, my onliest kid sister, passed peacefully away.
I guess big brothers always come to feel this way, but we both came from stuffy second floor walk ups in south Philadelphia run by a father, drunk on power, anger or booze, a mother on shift work at a local hospital - charge nurse at one of a dozen hospitals in Philly, and my kid sister and I forever figuring out a way to stay out of the path of flying objects.
We walked together to the same schools, ate lunch together, most times, and when she was hassled by over bearing boys, I stepped in when I could. She was a startlingly beautiful redhead who knew nothing about boys, dating, love, relationships and sex. Often questioning me about same, I tried to objectively 'splain things to her, but I think that turned her off to dating more than turned her on.
During High School, she rarely dated at all. During the four years there, she won 6 varsity letters. I got one. When we buried her, I felt a deep sense of guilty that I never did enough for her, with her to back her up during those years. We had the usual brother and sister fights, but I did not tell her enough times that I loved her, and I did. She was precious to me and I took her for granted.
When she needed me, I came to help, more than once. I heeded her call for help, and, if she did it again, I'd be there. I have one vast sea of surging regret when it comes to Pat, my sister. I should have listened to her more than I did, paid more attention to her word, given her more credit than I did.
I shoulda been a better brother. And when I see her in heaven, I'm going to tell her that.
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Very touching, Roger. You did your best for your parents and for Patty Ann.
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