Fourtieth

I... (it's all about me)... I cannot stand it that my brother is dying.  He's only 58.  I can't stand it, but, as fucking usual, i have no choice.

Also, to add to the creepiness, there are people who get off on the news of a dying person.  I wish i were kidding, but i am not.  My oldest brother, who is not, as far as i know, dying (any more than the rest of us) set up a blog site for information about my middle brother (who, goddammit, is dying).  There is this one woman who comments who is inappropriate and prying.  We are now moderating comments on the website, because of her, and i happily deleted one of her asinine remarks.  And of course, she noticed, because she is a complete freak, and is now emailing with me as to why her comment got deleted.

Fucking A.  Because you are an idiot, that's why.  This situation is not funny, or in any way amusing, so stop trying to be cute.  Fuck you.  Fuck you SO HARD.

Thirty Ninth

I just had a random thought about writing actual letters.  And then i remembered sealing wax.  And then i remembered the smell of sealing wax.

My best friend in the 5th grade and i used to write each other long letters, even though she lived next door.  These letters were full of parakeet feathers and pressed Cheetos and pictures cut from magazines and locks of hair.  Letters were sealed with sealing wax and various sealing wax stamps that we bought with what little cash that we had.   I still have some of these letters in an old scrap book that i kept up with for almost five pages.

In one of the letters, written when i was 11 and visiting my grandparents in California, i proudly announce that "i have learned what a bonar is".  I was so proud of myself.

Thirty Eighth

Isn't it awful what we get used to?  Walking around in a shroud of pain that we can't believe that everyone cannot see?  Going through life with a hole blown in our hearts and wondering how everything and everyone else seems so normal?  I know some of you know what i mean, i have heard it from you.

This is not me right now, not right now, but i see my Sil in this place.  It is a lonely place.  So lonely.  She will be losing her husband.  She sees it coming, which i did not.  And if/when he dies, will it be any easier knowing that someone did love her?  I don't know.

Pain is not a competition, But it is alone.

Thirty Seventh

My brother is going to die, likely within less than a year.

I mean, i don't know that for a fact, but it is what is likely.

I don't even know what to do with this.  There is nothing i can do with this.  I can support him, i can support his wife.  I can hope to resolve unresolved old stuff.  I can listen to his wife pour out her worst fears and sadness, fears she can't share with her kids or my brother, but i can take it.  I will take it.

I just don't know about life.  There really is no reason for it, other than the living of it.  This feels like a random act of cruelty from the universe.  Which is a dumb thing to say, as the universe has no presence with which to inflict cruelty.

I am ranting.  I have feelings about this.  Those at least are valid.  I am sad.

Thirty Sixth

I was snuggled up on my couch earlier today and i realized that i was feeling happy.  So i started to cry.  And then i got sad, and cried harder.

Feelings are so strange.

I cried for my brother, i cried for me. I don't exactly know what i was crying about.  I suppose there is no about.

Thirty Fifth

My brother has been feeing poorly for some time.  He has been to the doctor, specialists, whatever-ologists and done all they asked.

Four weeks ago he collapsed.  And spent two and a half weeks in the hospital, and was sent home to recover from the hospital, and went back in today to have a biopsy.

Cancer, of course.  Don't know what kind yet, but cancer nonetheless. Cancer that has been growing undetected for at least a few years.  Undetected partly because doctors do not listen when clients tell them that they don't "feel right".  "You're fine", they say after any given test.  "You're fine."  No need to look at the whole picture, listen to the client and keep probing.

I expect to hear bad news about my really old parents.  I don't expect it about my brothers.  My big brothers are invincible.  They can do anything.  I mean that sincerely, because it's true.

Goddammit.  Goddammit.

Thirty Fourth

“Do you hear me?  I feel like when I speak it’s as if it's wind just moving through the air to you.”

This declaration slays me.  He knows just what to say to make me feel like I am nothing, like I am the worst person in the world.  All our lives he has been accusing me of not listening, not hearing, interrupting, being judgmental.

I don’t have the distance to judge the truth of these accusations.  No one else has ever told me any of this.  I have a need to know if it is true, although it is true for him so I suppose the truth of it doesn’t matter.

“Yes, I hear you now.” I say, my head lowered and unable to make eye contact.  I am ashamed, which was his intention all along.

“I don’t think you do,” he repeats, gathering up his wallet and coat, “I don’t think you are capable of hearing me.”  Perhaps this is true, perhaps this is the one person I cannot listen to anymore.  Or perhaps I am only hearing what he is not saying.

The door clicks behind him as he leaves.  The cat immediately comes out from under her chair and circles my feet.