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... almost to the very hour, that I stood beside my elder brother Brian's hospital bed having to tell him that he was dying ... that there was no possibility for hope ... and that he and I had best bury the hatchet and make peace with one another whilst we still had time to do it.
I had had no contact with my brother for nigh on 5-years at that point. Not since he had threatened my life, in his and mine home, in front of half-a-dozen witnesses.
His then closest friend, in response, immediately proclaimed that I didn't live there any more, packing me, my two dogs and whatever we could carry out the door. This generous and kindly man provided me and my brood shelter for the next three weeks, helping me come to grips with the reality of now being homeless for the first time in nearly 10-years.
A year into my brother's and mine estrangement, I suffered what should have been for all pretense and purpose a fatal myocardial infarction; the end result of this being, whilst still alive, I had been struck instantly blind. Through some miracle, and the good graces and auspices of procedures then being developed at Guy's Hospital in London, my vision was completely restored a little over two years after my heart attack; better, in fact, than it had ever been, for you see I had been a life-long contact lens wearer (more than 40-years) prior to the loss of my vision, whereas once restored, I now, two years even further removed from my near demise, have almost perfect uncorrected vision for the first time, ever.
But, I digress. I was there, standing over my brother, because his eldest daughter had called the 1-800 number I had given her mother to call in the event they needed my assistance in getting treatment for my brother and his unremitting alcoholism and abusive behaviour. She had called because they, she, her younger sister and her mother all needed my help. They didn't know what to do. None of them could tell him the truth about his condition; all had unresolved issues of their own with the man who was my brother, and their father or estranged husband.
All of those intervening years I had resided in Wyoming, maintaining a nominal residence (unknown to all) shared with my eldest son Alan, here in Toronto.
This as all so déjà-vu. 24-years ago, I had stood beside the hospital bed of my then ailing father Thomas, and most recently like that of my brother Brian, I too, had to tell my father that he was also dying, and that as with my brother, there was no possibility of hope for him either. Both tasks were distasteful to me; but, no-one else wanted the chore, and in both cases responsibility for the task fell squarely upon my shoulders.
As with my father Thomas and his passing away, I was required with my brother Brian (largely because of all those unresolved issues between him and his daughters and estranged second wife) to decide when to pull the plug, and remove him from life support.
My brother Brian Richard Ellithorpe Austin passed away this past Thursday at 15:08 EST, in the City of North York, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and sadly will probably not be missed one iota. Not by me, likely as not, by his daughters Lijà and Renée, not by either of his estranged wife's Gillian and Carol.
I am the last of my family alive who carries our true and full surname, not-withstanding that we dropped the hyphen as pretentious well over one hundred years ago. The fifteenth generation, my brother and I, of our family in Canada. Neither of his daughters, the sixteenth, carry the first half of the surname, as their mother wasn't able to pronounce it so it was omitted from their birth certificates, and neither of my adopted sons carry either name at all. Frankly, I wanted none of this. Moreover, I had thought ... no, make that more strongly than that ... HAD PRAYED that I would predecease him, in order that I might never be placed in the position I now find myself in. My brother should have been spitting on my grave, rather that I faced with the prospect of my doing so over his.
The man I saw Thursday lying in that hospital bed is not the man I want to remember; but, then again, he hadn't been that man for the better part of 40-years or more. I refuse to remember him that way, instead I'll chose to remember the patient, thoughtful, supportive and loving older brother he was as a teenager, all of the rest simply wasn't him.
Warren C. E. Austin
Toronto, Canada
[Updated on: Tue, 20 January 2009 20:09]
"... comme recherché qu'un délice callipygian"
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It's been a week now ...
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Re: It's been a week now ...
By: acam on Tue, 20 January 2009 21:14 |
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Not that difficult Anthony ...
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Re: Not that difficult Anthony ...
By: acam on Wed, 21 January 2009 09:33 |
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Re: It's been a week now ...
By: e on Wed, 21 January 2009 03:01 |
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Re: It's been a week now ...
By: Cameron on Wed, 21 January 2009 13:41 |
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Austin and speaking of the dead.
By: acam on Wed, 21 January 2009 13:57 |
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Re: Austin and speaking of the dead.
By: Cameron on Wed, 21 January 2009 14:09 |
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None taken; not in this thread, nor The Missionaries either.
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Re: None taken; not in this thread, nor The Missionaries eit
By: timmy on Wed, 21 January 2009 19:04 |
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Re: Austin and speaking of the dead.
By: acam on Wed, 21 January 2009 21:58 |
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