Ch.253 My Brother Art Has Died
May 16, 2024
My brother Arthur, 92 years of age, has been lying in a hospice hospital bed, heavily dosed with sedatives, for the last four days. His skin is mottling now, a sign that death is imminent. Before his sedation, he suffered terribly, going four days without sleep. He’d become delirious and extremely agitated. He was miserable, and his wife Ruth, daughter Sonia, and my brother Don, were distressed. Sedation was the only option.
The reality of his dying has been slow to reach my emotions. I’m fully cognitively aware but I mostly have been feeling numb instead of sad. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m less recovered from witnessing Pat’s death than I thought; perhaps the recent loss of my quarter horse Lakota is playing a part. Also, my twin brother Don, who lives near Art and has had much more contact with him, is hurting a lot and I do want to maintain some composure to be able to comfort him. However, when I read Sonia’s latest update a couple hours ago (about Art’s skin mottling) something hard to describe occurred. It was as if a mixture of sadness and fear was reaching toward me, like molten rock flowing beneath a crack in the earth, starting to ooze to the surface.
I’m still in Wisconsin. I’m sure I’d be feeling more if I were in Buffalo with Art and Ruth. By chance, I scheduled a trip to Don’s home in London, Ontario, on May 21st, just five days from now. So, I’ll get there soon, although almost certainly not in time to be present at Art’s vigil.
I am closing this piece now but reserving space to write about how I feel after Art passes away.
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Ten minutes after I typed the words above, my brother Don called to tell me Art had passed away one hour before, while I was writing.
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May 17. Now it is morning, and that molten rock has finally reached the surface. I’ve been remembering Art, and Pat, and Lakota. I seem to be alternating between feeling stunned and sad, between a heavy somber sensation and tearful relief.
None of this makes sense to my poor “rational” brain. It’s too confusing, too surreal. Art shouldn’t have died. Nor Lakota. Nor Pat. That rational part of me isn’t helpful right now. I just need to let myself feel, to grieve the loss of a good man and a good brother.