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After my parent's death, my brother went also. His death was slow, prolonged. I watched as he quietly shut down on the inside, a handicapped man of 37. My mother had done a good job of taking care of him, he was born with difficulties in life that hadn't been because of his choosing, and being confined to a wheelchair limited his ability to experience the world; that was something I always regretted. I would of loved to take my brother to places all over the world, as my job in foreign business did. I would of liked him to know what the Nile looked like as it flowed and touched the sea, to taste the flavor of Japanese squid freshly and softly pan-fried. I could of taken him, but, I didn't.
Plane travel was a constant thing in my life, endless panoramic views of the skies above multiple countries graced my view from the first class windows. I'd seen a million miles of ocean, architecture of buildings from above, and, less than a few hundred airports. But... my brother never came along. He had issues with car sickness, plane travel in dealing with the pressure changes, and his physical health was never well enough. So, therefore, I couldn't share with him much of my adult life.
I loved all of it. I hated all of it.
Everything was fine, only fine. Then it was all taken away. My parents one evening were driving on a 'our road', the same one they always drove down to visit The Hockers, our longest family friends. They lived in outside Pittsburgh, and they made the best Philly Cheesesteaks known to man kind. That night, with dinner in mind, my parents were distracted, speaking and trusting the road. They had driven it so many times over the 23 years we lived along it, it was second nature. The Chevy hugged every curve of it, every turn they knew on instinct. We knew on instinct. I knew we would be half way there when we passed the old run-down gas station that Sam's family used to own, and my brother would exclaim 'Sam I Am!".
We all knew this road, and lived this road.
Until a semi slammed into their car, a semi truck that nobody knew would drive down this country road, because they weren't supposed to, it was against the law.
They died instantly. My brother, so horrified afterwards that I believe that was what began his shutdown process. The heartache, the emptiness, watching the blood from our father's head trickle down over his face as he was pinned upside down, mangled, stuck, staring blank and hazed into once animated faces.
I found out three days later. Nobody could reach me in Thailand, not where I was, in the southern lands, dealing with a contracting organization set to build apartment complexes on a mass scale. I had been heckling million dollar land discrepancies for my company, The Wright Group.
It took me a week to get back.
They were already buried.
My brother, a clam. My aunt had him at her house. He was a shallow husk of who he was before. When he seen me, when his deep brown eyes met mine for the first time in months, I seen nothing. He didn't even try to hug me. He didn't say my name.
I found resentment instead.
Our relationship suffered afterwards, up to the day he died. He rarely spoke to me, only mostly to my aunt, who tried her damnest to make things right, but just couldn't. I loved her, but she wasn't mom, and what made me sad is I knew I wasn't mom either. I wasn't good at medication schedules, habitual check-ups on his dietary needs. I had reached a point where I even decided to transfer to a location in the USA for my job, so I could fly home to my brother more, because after an event so tragic, a person turns a leaf, you realize how precious life is. You change yourself for other people. You become less important; priorities change.
It was too late. I hadn't been there enough; since I had landed the job nearly 5 years ago, the constant leave of absence drew my family and I apart, rarely could I call, rarely could I see them, rarely was I available, period. Such a great divide grew between us all.
It went unnoticed. I was just 'going through the motions' of life, trying to do my best in my adult career that I could. I was using my degree and I was proud of myself. Perhaps too proud.
It paid good. It killed my family ties, and I was the one that had allowed it to happen.
It's been 2 years since I've been left without them. I've forced myself to come to terms with the loss. I've realized that you should hold people you hold dear to you close. Don't let them go, don't do something that takes you away from them.
I'll never let it happen again.
I won't suffer this pain again.