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I sit here today watching the rain fall, listening to it drip from the leaves, slowly like tears. It takes me back to another rainy day almost five years ago to the day. A day where I sat and watched the rain fall, slowly dripping from the leaves, like tears falling from my own eyes. I was here to do a job. I had just finished one in August and suddenly I was back to do another. The job that lay before me was to wait, help, and watch my brother die. I had just returned from here only weeks ago, when I did the same with my mother. The work was getting harder by the day. My job was to sit, and listen for noises, for movement from a man that was no longer there. He had the same name, he had the same hair, clothes, and height; but nothing else was him. The cancer had left his lung and went into his brain. My beautiful, loving, caring, kind and considerate brother was now someone who sat in a chair all day and drank coffee that wasn't there. Sometimes a tiny glimpse of him would return, a smile, a touch of wit, a glance from those eyes that held so much pain that seemed to be saying, " help me" I never turned from his stare, I wanted to memorize every line on his face, every hair on his head. The way his hands looked, how much he reminded me of daddy. I wanted to drink it, to drown in the being of him. I wanted to smell him, to touch him, to pull as much of him into my soul as I could before he was gone. You would have had to have known him to understand my feelings. He was more than a brother, he was a friend, a confidant, and a hero. He was my hero. I loved him as if he were my father instead of my brother. I wanted to please him, to get his approval, his pat on the back, and his pride in me. He was always there for me at ever major turn in my life except for one. The one I needed him most, when I helped to bury him. He taught me to drive on an old pickup with a column shift, green with West Coast mirrors, he went to every ball game I played in, he let me hang with his friends at "Buddy's" drive-in although he was six years older. I was his "babysis" and he was my "Bubbie." It wasn't as if we were only children that we were so close, there were five more; it just kind of fell that way. He was the Best Man when I married, and it was he who waited with mama and daddy outside the door when my Michael was born. My husband and I had divorced and he, along with daddy were the "proud" grand parents. He introduced me to the first man I ever really loved with all my heart. And when yet another son was born it was he who drove me to the hospital and waited with mama until Paul made his arrival. He nicknamed Paul "Squirrel" that day and called him that for the next 23 years. When we were younger he literally saved my life twice. Once when I rode my tricycle up the dirt road we lived on and a huge bull thought that bright red tricycle would be good to stomp. He ran as fast as he could and jerked me off the bike and turned and ran as fast as he could with the bull hot on our heels. It seems kinda funny now, but at the time I was frozen in fear and when he grabbed me, I knew it would be ok. The other time he saved my life, I won't go into here, it was a private matter and he took care of it. I was somewhere I shouldn't have been and that is all that needs to be told. Just suffice it to say, I wouldn't be here today if not for him. He rescued me from a huge rooster we owned when I was about 6, I went out to the hen house to get the eggs and I forgot to look and make sure the rooster was penned. Just as I reached for the third egg he got me, spurred me up the back of my left leg. Then in what can only be described as an Indiana Jones routine the next thing I knew I was outside the fence and that rooster was flying in circles over his head. The rooster died a quick death, and thankfully daddy didn't do the same to him. But today as I sit here and listen to the rain the main thing I go back to is our last real conversation. Other than two or three word question or answers this was the last real time I talked to him. I went into his room and asked if I could lay on the bed beside him. "If you will be still" he said, sounding so much like daddy. I lay there for a few minutes just listening to him breathe, and then I said what I knew I had to say. I told him how much I loved him, what a wonderful brother he had been all my life, and I told him how much I was going to miss him. He didn't say anything for a little while and I rolled over to look at him. He had these tiny little tears rolling down the side of his face. And he said, "I'm gonna miss you too, but I can't say that you have been the best sister you could have been." Got me all the way to the end... He smiled a weak smile and we both cried, we fell asleep holding hands. Five days later he was gone. I love you so much my Bubbie and I never go a day with out thinking of you in some way. I miss you more than I thought possible to miss someone. And I am glad I was there holding your hand when you went, and I wanted to go with you. Because I knew life for me would never again be as sweet. Laired E. (Larry) Welch 09/11/1945- 09/27/1995 Kathalise Martin " He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" (B. Scott - B. Russell) The road is long with many a winding turn that leads us to who knows where, who know where. But I'm strong, strong enough to carry him. He ain't heavy, he's my brother. So on we go. His welfare is of my concern. No burden is he to bear, we'll get there. For I know he would not encumber me. He ain't heavy, he's my brother. If I'm laden at all, I'm laden with sadness that everyone's heart isn't filled with the gladness of love for one another. It's a long, long road from which there is no return. While we're on the way to there, why not share? And the load doesn't weigh me down at all. He ain't heavy, he's my brother. He's my brother. He ain't heavy, he's my brother... |