so, to start off with, i don't have cancer... my brother does. i'm guessing many of you have dealt with this bitch that is cancer, whether yourself or a family member or close friend. i haven't, not until now. it fucking sucks. i'm sorry to anyone who has dealt with it. in fact, i'm sorry for a lot of things. some of us have bickered and moaned at each other over trivial things. some important things. but i've found myself lately thinking about a lot of things, and i just wanted to say i appreciate you all for who you are. whether you're just getting into the game or becoming kinda bitter towards it due to the changing landscape of it all. whether you have a faith in a god, or not. whether you are conservative or liberal. american or not. i've genuinely enjoyed being a part of this community. i am thankful for each and every one of you, and your unique perspectives on life. i'm not intending on leaving, but i've noticed my visits here have become fewer and fewer over the last couple years, and this year with news of my brother, i've lost a lot of interest discussing things i used to love. i'm not sure what that means for me going forward.
in our board fashion, here's a little stream of consciousness i've made about him. feel free to skip it.
It’s funny, I’ve never really considered my brother my best friend. And in any given period of my life, he wasn't. But it's dawned on me, I probably have known him better than anyone for the longest time (my parent's being the other contenders). He certainly had closer people to him at different times, and the same for me. I had best friends growing up that I lost due to families moving away, changing schools, and whatnot. He was 3 years my Sr in school grades, so we had our own group of friends throughout high school. While I was in college, we really started to get close again, but I’d still say my college roommate was my best friend then, maybe even now. And I know he's had friends of his own that were closer to him in those times as well. But looking back on it, over the last 40 years, he's the only one that was always... I don't know how to say it. adjacent? near best friend? brother is maybe best. But over a 40 year period, he was probably my best friend.
He wasn't a remarkable man, nor a remarkable kid. But he's done' some remarkably hilarious things, courageous things, dumb things, and he's one of the strongest people I know.
Thinking about how to describe him, the best way I know how is to say he's an asshole. If you knew my siblings (2 brothers and a sister), you'd know that's maybe the best compliment we can receive from each other. my younger brother (does not have cancer) is a missionary of sorts. He’s probably the strongest in the faith among us. Long story short, when he was in college, he came home and the rest of us had all pissed him off somehow. he went off on us, which culminated in him calling us all assholes. I’d never heard him swear before. We all lost it, laughing hysterically. He fell in with us eventually. It’s become our term of endearment for each other. And I’ll use it till my grave, much to my mother’s chagrin. My siblings are assholes, and I love them for it.
Asshole seems to fit my older brother (with cancer) particularly well.
I can’t tell you his story, because I’m not him. I can only tell you my memories of things and how I saw them from my perspective. Some will be embellished, some missing details. but they're by and large true.
One of my earliest memories is us getting into trouble of sorts (this is a common theme, I’ve discovered while making notes of these memories). I was probably 3-4, he 6-ish, we had just gotten back from Sunday church and my cousin was in town to visit (he and my brother were same age). It had rained a good bit, and at the bottom of the hill, at the corner of the driveway was a muddy pothole beside the road. My bike happened to have training wheels still on it, and for some reason the front wheel was missing. So, still in our Sunday best, he decided it was the perfect time to take the bike, spike the front forks in the grounds beside the mud hole, put the back tire in it, and rainbow the mud into the air. That asshole convinced me it was fun, and so we had a few minutes of glorious, muddy fun. I can still feel remnants of the ecstasy. until my mom came out and found us. I don’t remember the punishment, but I do know my parents were kind and loving enough to get us changed into appropriate clothes and let us back out to enjoy it again. I’m sure they even participated, though I don't remember.
Fast forward a few years, and he's being an asshole again. He was the type of person that needed a companion to play with. I was fine with or without anyone else, but he insisted on having a playmate. By now, I’m around 9 and he 12. He’s still physically superior to me at this point, but he needed me to play basketball with him. well, I’m not an idiot and knew I would get killed, so to convince me to play, he'd spot me a few points to make it interesting. Playing to 10, I started at 9. I’m pleased to say, I usually beat him. This is when I really started to discover my athletic dominance over him (heavy sarcasm). Seriously, he dominated me in virtually anything we did together. Pool, bumper pool, basketball, baseball, golf... golf. He stole my pine cone. That asshole. Ok, to set the stage, we had a decent size back yard at this time. Enough to make out a little golf course for ourselves. It consisted of 1 hole, and we used pine cones cause our parents (rightly) didn't trust us not to hit the house with real golfballs. He typically beat me soundly. but on this day I was particularly accurate. It was my day! I was on fire. We’d played a couple "holes" and though I’d lost them all, I was this close several times. Final hole, winner take all (cause that's how we roll around here). It’s the final hole mainly because we're running out of pine cones that haven't been obliterated yet. He goes first, hits a decent shot. I’m next, last pine cone, and I smash it. It soars through the air, lands ever so close to the hole, and I’m elated. But my brother, he’s conniving. He bolts for the hole, gonna steal my pine cone. Oh no, not on my watch. I hurled my club, he’s sprinting to the pine cone… and boy was I accurate this day. I nailed him in the back of the head. The rest is a blur, I remember running inside yelling to my mom that he got hurt somehow. Blood everywhere, lots of stitches. He didn’t steal my pine cone again. Think I might let the asshole slide this time, though.
But remember, he’s an asshole. He found ways to get back at me. We’d throw baseball in the back yard. He had a wicked knuckle ball. He’d make me catch while he pitched. I enjoyed it mostly. But I didn’t have a cup, and he wouldn’t tell you when that knuckle was coming. Rarely did I let the ball past me, but there was more than a few times that was the last pitch of the day.
He had a knack for finding injuries. Most often, it was through no fault of his own. He was a bit of a daredevil, but it usually wasn’t his own doing that got him. The aforementioned golfing incident being a good example. Going back to our younger years, his first “big” injury was busting his finger open. He was on our platform playhouse, and a friend of his pulled a post over that snapped back against the edge of the platform. We’ll, his finger just happened to be hanging over that edge.
Back in high school, he broke his arm playing basketball. Small hairline fracture in his elbow after coming down hard on the court. Didn’t keep him out long though, but it did alter his shot, he was pretty good too, but had to remake himself to get back on the court. And he did it. Same year in baseball, he was pitching in the batting cave when a ball got lined right back at him. The pitchers protective screen didn’t hold. Hit him in lower jaw, snapped in clean on both sides. He thought it knocked a couple teeth loose cause they moved around. Didn’t know it was broke until Dr told him. Couple plated and screws later, he back on field with a wired shut mouth. Had to wear a helmet with face guard while on field, but he did it. One of the most hilarious stories I can remember is during the state playoffs, a dad of the other team asked one of ours why he wore the helmet. Our teams dad explained that he had been born with an enzyme deficiency and craved certain grasses, ones particularly found on sports fields. Said if he didn’t have something to stop him, he’d be overcome with sensation and start grazing right there on the field. Other team dad was eating it up too. Wasn’t long before we couldn’t hold it anymore.
He took a nail to the eye from a nailgun. Broke his back on the job. Injuries followed him. But somehow he seemed to come out of them just a good or better than before. He had businesses that worked and one that almost bankrupted him. He’s been charged by a bull and punched it in the face to get away. Me and him survived a jeep flipping 10-12 times going 75+ with barely a scratch. We’d go mud riding in that jeep and stay out all night doing it until we got stuck and spent the next several hours trying to get it out while freezing and wet. He and his wife had a rough year early in their marriage. Went on a trip themselves to rekindle things, came back worse for it. Still worked it out and now are going on 15 years strong with 2 of the best kids I can imagine. What kind of asshole can go through all that and come out better for it?
He’s embarrassed himself dancing in front of an entire stadium, messing up the macarena. We crashed a gokart into a tree while our dog chased us. He’d “teach” me how to skim board and wake board, how to skate, take me jumping off bridges and cliffs, camping on islands where we had to cut down a tree for firewood for the night. There was a 2 year period we moved about 6 times, once while me a him were at a youth camp. No one told us we were moving while at camp. Took us an hour or so to figure out where our family was. I literally scared the shit out of him at Disney world with one of those pop-guns.
He’s a bit of a happy drunk, but forgetful. He does this thing where he pinches you just above the knee. It’s kind of like a funny bone sensation, hurts but also feels weird almost like a tickle. And that’s all fine and good, we mess with each other all the time. Problem is when drunk, he forgets he’s done it. It’s super annoying. He’s an asshole.
I have a few different groups of friends. He doesn’t. Not because he actually doesn’t, he just doesn’t think of them that way. He’ll invite a random assortment of friends over for games or whatnot. Half barely know each other, other half have never met. But he loves it and makes it work.
We had several of his friends live with us for a while growing up. I used to think it was mostly my parents, and they do still deserve a huge part of the praise for opening their home. But I think I’ve discovered how much it was my brother being aware of the situation and just loving his friends. To my knowledge, it wasn’t abuse of any kind or anything like that, most weren’t terrible situations, but that still didn’t mean it was easy on the kids. I don’t know how much he was actually involved in it, but knowing what I know now, I find it hard to believe he wasn’t an important part in that. Looking back on things, he never gives up on anyone. Already discussed him and his wife issues that they resolved. He also had a friend that got into drugs, cast my brother away, came back asking for things. He helped him clean up and they were best friends again. Unfortunately, he eventually lost friend to his demons. But he never gave up on him, still defends him to this day. Another friend needed help getting back on his feet after a jail spell. My brother had a business at the time. Gave him a job. Him and my dad even found a car for him. He was betrayed by the friend. Back in jail. Friend is out, now, clean, with a family. My bro helped him get there. Had numerous people that no one else would hire, but he did. What kind of asshole does that?
Truth be told, he’s probably the one holding our family together. We all love each other, but he seems to be the one committed to making sure we talk regularly. He’s so annoying about it. He doesn’t really care about radio, so he’ll call you while he’s driving. He’s insistent on talking too. If you say you’ll call him back in a minute, you better or he’s calling you again.
He been battling cancer for a year and a half or so. At first, we thought it was caught early and a quick surgery took care of it. Then the bastard came back with a vengeance. 8-9 months of various chemo’s and radiation, it’s just not working anymore. We have precious weeks, maybe months. He already looks like a skeleton. At least his mind is coming back. Couple weeks ago, it moved to his back into his bones. That’s very painful. He was basically sleeping 24-7, and I mean he might have been awake for 15/day, mostly to use bathroom and each a single bite of something. It felt like we’d lost him already, just waiting on a shell pf a body to give out. Thankfully they performed a surgery that’s given him some pain relief and he’s able to be awake for decent portions of time. Still nothing remotely close to what we’d like, but a couple/few hours each day. Enough to talk again. Enough for him to laugh again. To tell him I love him.
I love him.
He’s a good big brother. I’m an older brother, but I’m not ready to be a big brother. I don’t know how to be. I don’t really know how to be a father or husband either, though, and I think I’m doing ok there.
I just hope I’m an asshole, like him.
