My Brother’s Keeper
Yesterday I talked with the daughter of my estranged brother. I hadn’t spoken to her in 15 years. It was an emotional and heartbreaking call. That man, who makes it impossible to be in his life, is dying. Barring any tragic accident, he will be the first of the six of us to go. At the ripe ole age of 60. Anger, a two pack a day habit and enough weed to supply a small state has its way of taking its toll. I am numb. Not sure what I feel. When I think of the little boy that was my childhood companion, my heart squeezes tight and the throat threatens to close up but that boy hasn’t existed for 50 years. He was fearless and reckless. Somewhere, I have a newspaper article of him, on some fancy bike my dad had purchased for him, jumping over 8 of his friends at a park. I think he took my fathers abandonment harder than the rest of us. It damaged us all, installing within us maladaptive life skills, but him far worse. He quickly aligned himself with kids that were getting in troubl...