My Little Brother

My Little Brother My second youngest brother lost his battle with cancer on Sunday. I was shocked, although I had no right to be. For eight or nine months the tumors had been releasing a hormone which raised his blood pressure and heart rate to dangerous levels. The medical community added more and more to their counter attack on his body, and on Sunday his heart just stopped. I was in shock. I had spoken to him just 2 weeks ago. He had been getting better for over a month after a four month period of more in the hospital than out of it. He was upbeat and we fooled around on the phone as usual. We spoke of our mutual love of Barry White albums and their effect on our spouses. He had been out to a restaurant the weekend before. We were un-rushed and covered all we wanted to cover. Today, this morning, sitting in my office in Riga, seven hours before my family on the East Coast of the US were up, I opened Facebook. One of his college friends had a link to his obituary. I read it in horror. I wailed. I did not know grown people could wail. I wailed. For half an hour, alone at my desk, I cried, hard. For four years I had the conviction that he would get through this. I thought no other way. How could I? The alternative was unthinkable. The first year of his illness, his professional life was slow, so I drafted him into a business venture I had been developing. I did not need his money, only his company. We spoke almost every day. We travelled to California and Latvia together. We played it out until there was nothing left to play out. He gave his advice from experience in the field. It was more entertainment than business, but it was an enjoyable ride. Of the five boys, we shared the same attributes. Tools did not belong in our hands. We played with balls as children, not trucks, not tools. Our handyman abilities are a running family joke. We were meant for office work. Our hands, at best were for cooking, not building. My other three brothers can repair anything, Frank and I were lucky to start the car or lawn mower. It was a bond between us. He was my best man at my first wedding, for no other reason than we were naturally close and had much in common. About eight years ago, we together drove one of my parent’s cars from New York to Florida for them. It was a BMW 5 series. The cup holders flipped out of the console between the driver and passenger seat. The cup holders are incomplete loops, opening toward the seat it is meant to serve. Every time we stopped for a break and picked up a coke or coffee, the turn back onto the highway spilled the beverage in the seat the cup holder was meant to serve. We wore our beverages, from New York to Florida. We laughed at ourselves because we knew; our other three brothers would have been able to fix the problem. We just had to live with it. Frank was special. He had an ability to compete that none of us other brothers has. He developed sporting capabilities that allowed him to compete at levels we just did not have. In team sports or individual sports, he was competitive, the rest of us were average. He was comfortable and in that ability and it made playing with him a pleasure. At the golf course it made him popular. It was pleasure to be there with him. When he felt his worst, a few months ago, I was told he said he missed my father and wished he were here to support him. My father passed away a little over seven years ago. I know my father is supporting him now. I can’t imagine how I will miss you Frank. You are a clear, familiar voice in my head. You occupy a unique place in my heart. As shock fades to grief. I wail.