My brother Tony - brain damaged at birth, developmentally delayed, now physically age 50, but still 2 years old - alone in hospital and obsessed with dying… “I don’t want to be in the cold ground”…and of me “You almost died didn’t you?” he says to me…Why don’t I visit again? Why do my eyes fill with tears as I recall the image of him in that bare room the only colour being his cookie monster stuffed toy? Do I use him as an excuse of my own emotional turmoil? Will his death represent yet another victory for my other California-sunny-living-brother and his Payton Place wife as they prepare to gorge on Tony’s monied mortal leavings? It is not so much the California boy’s victory that enrages me but my own losses due to my own mismanagement, misplanning and the totally wasted years that sucked up my life and resources. But it is now 9.23 am and the kitchen opens for lunch soon. It is a gorgeous day - clear blue sky and the lawn spotted with grackles and robins... what a racket. Take a pain killer and get going to work. I stress over my own indecision around work and health.
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