On Thursday we commemorated the first anniversary of my brother’s sudden death. Mike was only 16 months older then I was. I moved down to North Carolina to be close to his only child and his grandchildren. He was supposed to have joined us down here. He had urged me to move and said he could finish up getting the house ready to sell. I kept asking when he wanted me to come back up and help get things finished and he kept putting me off. He had things he needed to do and places of his to clean out.
A special welcome to anyone who is new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent or many years ago, whether you have lost a person or a pet, or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive ("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and process your grieving in whatever way works for you. Share whatever you need to share. We can't solve each other's problems, but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
Unlike a private journal, here, you know: your words are read by people who
have been through their own hell. There's no need to pretty it up or tone it down. It just is.
My mind keeps going over that I should have known something was wrong with my brother Mike. He had urged me to come down here to be near his daughter and grandchildren and he was going to join us here. I keep thinking I should have picked up on clues that something was wrong. That he needed me up there. The fact he kept postponing me coming back up should have told me something was wrong.
What he didn’t tell me was that he was spiraling down into becoming an alcoholic. He learned to drink in Vietnam. When he was under extreme stress he would turn to the bottle. He said he was having trouble with shaking and the Doctor thought it might be the onset of Parkinson’s. His Doctor was known to be a very poor doctor. He was going to go in for more tests. I asked if he wanted me up but he said he would be okay and to wait until after the tests to see what was going on. A few weeks later I got the call from the Emergency Room. He had fallen and hit his head. I asked to talk to him and he claimed that he was okay they were just going to transfer him to Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis. His nurse called back a few minutes later after getting permission to talk to me. He had fallen and hit his head and was on the floor for three days before some people broke down the door and found him. He had broken a disc in his back. He was as far from okay as you could get.
I was bringing his daughter home from work when she got a call from the hospital. Mike was in critical condition and was in danger of death. I called and talked to the hospital and was told that he had been doing better. They were doing mild therapy for his back when all of a sudden he started throwing up. It got into his lungs and he lost consciousness and his heart stopped. Oxygen had been cut off to his brain. He died a few hours later without ever regaining consciousness as I was packing to take his daughter up to Indiana.
I was shocked when I got to the house. The kitchen was wall-to-wall empty wine containers. Wine was spilled on the floor. Empty glasses were everywhere. The downstairs was trashed. There was barely any food in the refrigerator. When I went upstairs I almost lost it. In the upstairs bathroom the floor was wall-to-wall feces and blood. There were bloody handprints where he had tried and failed to pull himself up. There was dried feces on his bedroom floor and in the hallway. It is a sight that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I made sure his daughter did not come upstairs until after I cleaned everything up. I could not let her see that.
He had been conned by people he thought were friends into taking out the money he had inherited from Mom and giving it to them for a beauty supply store and massage parlor. That money was his daughter’s inheritance. People who knew me and had my phone number just ignored the situation and let Mike be bled dry by these leeches. People who had my phone number never bothered to call to tell me Mike was drinking heavily. They knew Mike would listen to me. His priest had the gall to tell us that he rode his bike past the house every day and knew he should stop and talk with Mike but never did.
Vietnam really damaged Mike inside. He was never the same after he came back. He earned the Bronze Star for bravery there. His camp came under attack and he ran and picked up two comrades and carried them to safety. He didn’t realize he had been hit until later that evening when he was taking a shower and saw that shrapnel had struck him in the leg. He came down with amebic dysentery in Vietnam. He had neurological damage to both arms and both legs. He had to live with the horror of watching people he knew die. He never talked about Vietnam. All he ever said was that he wanted to go back and see the place because he loved the people. I could tell though that there was a great deal of pain inside.
I find myself feeling shattered by Mike’s death. I keep wondering if there was something I could have done. Should I have just driven up without telling him? If I had been there I would have gotten him to the V.A. They owed it to him as a veteran to take care of him. I know I could have stopped the drinking. He would always listen to me. I get alternately depressed and angry. Damn it I was supposed to be moving him down to North Carolina to be with his family. I wasn’t supposed to have to give his eulogy.
I went like a whirling dervish to get the house cleaned and on the market. It hurt having to go through Mom and Dad’s things to give away or to be sold. They loved that house so much. I kept what I could but I have limited space here in my little apartment. It feels so strange to know that someone else is living in that house now. The house felt empty when I was cleaning it. With Dad, Mom, and Mike gone all of the energy and soul left with it. It is just a house now but it had been a home to me for 6 years.
I’ll never be returning to that town again. Dad is buried in the military cemetery and Mom’s ashes were placed on his grave at her request. Mike is buried next to them.
My family and friends told me that I did everything I could. I was a good sister to him. My head knows I couldn’t save him but my heart aches because he isn’t here.
Mike was so proud of being in the Knights of Columbus. I had bought him a special Christmas present. Friends overseas make L’arpies (Little ‘appy Rock People) to help in the fight against child abuse and pornography. I had them make a Knights of Columbus one for him. I was so looking forward to seeing his face when he opened it. Now it sits as a memorial to him.
I have spent the last month frantically getting stuff together for one of my younger brother’s move from California to here. He is disabled. One thing Mike’s death did was to bring Reid and I closer then we have ever been before. There were instances in the past that estranged us but we realized how fragile life is and now we are extremely close. He will be looking after me as much as I will be looking after him. Because of his severe diabetes and M.S. I have had to arrange the whole move for him. I’ll be flying to San Francisco and then he and I will take the train back after the movers pick up his furniture and car.
As Reid mentioned the other night I am now the oldest child and matriarch of the family. I’m the one everyone will turn to when there is a problem. There are days though when I’m tired of having to be the responsible one. I am tired of having to be the strong one. I’m tired of the pain. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I feel like the song “Make the world go away. Get it off my shoulders.”
Mike and the Knights of Columbus L'arpie he never had a chance to see.
You can find previous The Grieving Room diaries
here.