Reflections

Today I was once again transported back in time. Throughout the day today I have travelled back to February, 2007. It hasn't been an enjoyable trip. In February, 2007, I was working as principal at Scurry-Rosser Elementary. I remember that on February 14th, Valentine's Day, my dad called me around lunch time. He was upset...crying. The back story here is that my brother, Bob, had driven up on December 19th to pick daddy up to spend Christmas with him in east Texas. He spent the night with Daddy and when he got up the next morning his skin was yellow. That began a cycle of doctor visits, emergency room visits, and frantic efforts to figure out what was going on. Needless to say, they never went to East Texas and Bob never left Daddy's house. One specialist found a lesion on Bob's liver and suspected liver cancer. He was in the process of scheduling a biopsy when I got that call from my dad. Bob couldn't get out of bed...couldn't walk...had no balance and could barely put words together to form a short sentence. I told Daddy to call an ambulance and I would meet him at the house. I rushed out of work and raced to my dad's house getting there only shortly after the ambulance. The paramedics helped get Bob dressed and then put him in the ambulance. Daddy and I followed. I remember that trip as if I just got out of the car. In the ER we were informed that Bob would be hospitalized. The next days were a blur as I went daily to the hospital after work and watched my brother digress into paranoia and hallucinations. His liver had shut down and toxins were building up and poisoning him. Then on the 19th I received a call from Bob's doctor asking me to come to the hospital. I left work and drove to the hospital in time to visit with the doctor. She was just coming out of Bob's room and informed me that she was moving him to ICU. He was in a coma. I think I knew then that he would not recover, but I couldn't admit that...not even to myself. Once in ICU a male nurse came in to evaluate Bob and off-handedly remarked, "His pupils are blown." I was shocked. I remember almost shouting, "What do you mean?" He misunderstood, but explained, "It means he has had a stroke. He's not in pain, though." By this point Bob's breathing was very labored. I stayed as late as they would let me stay and was back early the next morning. My intention was to stay at the hospital overnight but they would not allow that so about 7:00 we left and I took Daddy home. I went to bed with the intention of being at the hospital early again the next day, but at 11:00 pm a doctor in ICU called me and told me that I needed to come back to the hospital if I wanted to be with Bob "at the end." Jumped out of bed, dressed and raced back to the hospital and sat vigil with Bob until shortly after 6:00 a.m. when his breathing slowed and then finally stopped. He was gone. Even today, though my memory of most of those events is crystal clear, I still find myself disbelieving that my brother is gone. How can that be? He was my brother! He was only 58 years old! Each year on Feb. 21st, I relive those days leading up to my brother's passing. Not by choice but by default. The good of that is that for a few moments I have my brother back and I can tell him I love him. I can give him a hug. But then, the inevitable happens. I lose him all over again. And let me assure you...it hurts every damn time.