All Ears: Oh, Brother

Photo Credit: m.prinke

We were born eight years apart. Due to our generational age differences, we had little in common as kids. When our father died when I was five, my brother was thirteen and in high school. Naturally, he was much more interested in girls than his pesky, first-grade brother. It really took another 15 years before we had a true, adult relationship.

In a week or so, my brother will turn 65 and is now retired. He worked for a famous greeting card company for over three decades where he cared enough to give his very best. After retiring this year, he has co-piloted a sailboat from the Florida Keys to the Chesapeake Bay and has traveled to California to visit me. Now, I am here in Maryland for a few weeks to visit with he and his wife; and visit our mother who resides in a local nursing home.

Our mother has profound dementia, so we are not really sure if she knows who we are most of the time. She thought that I looked familiar. Although she is not ambulatory any more, she seems happy and contented. She still has a sense of humor and laughs much of the time. She has actually gained 15 pounds after going to the nursing home. She said that she likes the food. More importantly, she seems to love the people who are now taking care of her. This part is very good, since our mother does not remember that she was a bigot. Most of the medical assistants are black and they treat her with the utmost kindness and dignity. It is too bad that she is not cognizant enough to know.

My brother visits her several times per week, but she does not remember his name or that he is her oldest son. Some days, he is her brother. Another day, he is her husband. It is so much easier to accept physical disabilities than mental ones. We wish that she remembered us. Maybe there is a faint glimmer of memory left inside her rapidly declining soul, but we did not see it flicker.

My brother and I are Baby Boomers, although he was born during World War II - a time when milk and all other commodities were severely rationed. Our mother worked at the Five and Dime store; our father helped build Liberty Ships in the Baltimore shipyards. Our father's job helped support the war effort, but a decade later, lead to his demise. He died of lung cancer at the age of 39, primarily due to his asbestos exposure. Thousands and thousands of Americans died during that war; and many thousands more died as a result of these environmental exposure. My father is not considered a veteran, but he did give his life just the same.

My brother grew a nice-looking, full (white) beard on his 42 day sailboat trip from Florida, so for the first time in our lives, we are starting to look alike. Our wives think we are "cute" when we walk together. Cute is often a term used to refer to Old Farts like us. Today, I instructed him on the fine art of repairing irrigation sprinklers. Tomorrow, we go sailing, assuming the weather is cooperative. Tragically, my seafaring brother is prone to seasickness.

My wife is offering support to my brother's wife, who was diagnosed with breast cancer less than a week ago. On Monday, she will undergo a lumpectomy. Courses of radiation therapy will follow. She has taken this news in stride; considering it more of a bump in the road of life, rather than a tragedy. My brother was diagnosed with a melanoma several years ago. After the initial shock of getting the Big C, he also took it in stride and is doing great. A positive attitude definitely goes a long, long way in dealing with cancers.

I am writing this blog from my brother's home office where a poster prominently hangs:

"We cannot direct the wind; but we can adjust the sails."

That about sums it up.