Things Borrowed

I'm 44-in 6 months I'll be 45...another 12 months I'll be 46, and so on. Last year I experienced a major loss-my wife and I separated....I lost my wife. Less than 24 hours ago I lost my only brother. He succumbed to lymphatic cancer. From where I stand I begin to wonder what really belongs to me. Is it really my life if one day I'll have to give it up? Was he my brother or was he just a life on loan to me? I mean, yes, he was my beloved brother, but what really belongs to us? Or is it that nothing really belongs to us. It's not our life; she wasn't my wife; he wasn't my brother-they were just on loan to me-things borrowed.

One day my mom called me to tell me that my brother was ill-he had cancer. It hurts too much now to discuss the details, but writing has always been my catharsis and I write now to put this all into perspective. My brother and I hadn't seen each other for quite some time-his life was his own and he chose to live it privately. But he was still my beloved brother-my big brother-my only brother, and now he's gone. My mother said that she was going to fly up to San Francisco and spend some time with him and I told her that I too would come up to visit. She left Wednesday and my plan was to come up after work on Friday. But my brother needed me sooner. He didn't say it verbally, he spoke to me in ways I cannot explain. I specifically scheduled my flight to leave on Friday. When I looked at my itinerary, by some twist of fate, my flight departed Thursday morning at 8:05 am. I was angry at the time, but now I regret being upset that I didn't get what I thought I'd purchased. Had I left Friday morning, my mother would have had to experience my brother's death alone. Fortunately, the gods, my mom, and the will of my brother brought me sooner.

I arrived and my brother was in extreme pain from the chemotherapy. We talked. Surprisingly, he didn't look too bad for a man who had cancer throughout his body. I walked through the door and his first words to me were, "Little brother!." He rarely called me by my name. As far back as I can remember I was always "little brother." My visit was brief. It wasn't long before my mother summonsed his doctor, his vitals were checked and the prognosis wasn't good. His medical team went into action trying to stabilize him. We still had no idea that he would leave us so soon. He was rushed to have a CT scan and then to intensive care. The doctors spoke to us-telling us that he was in really bad shape and that they were doing everything within their power to save him, but they didn't give us much hope.

My beloved brother died at 1:56 a.m. January 25, 2008. By his side was my mother and I. I watched as his blood pressure dropped to dangerously low levels and his heart rate slowed to a fatal 30 beats per minute. He was dying. But he was sedated and in no pain. I remember sitting in the chair next to his bed and having a wave of emotion rip through my body so strong that I could no longer contain it and I weeped uncontrollably. I was angry at myself, I'd come to be a comfort to my mother and here I was being comforted by her. My brother was dying and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. I wanted to tell him that he'd always been my great defender when we were younger-no one touched his little brother.

My mother told me that he held on long enough to see me and I love him so for hanging in there so that I could see him one last time-to hear his voice; to hear him say those precious two words to me one last time, "little brother." I promised myself I wouldn't "what if" or "if only" myself to death over his demise. I would accept it for what it was and help my family and myself heal. My brother held on long enough to give me the gift of his protective cloak. As long as I was his "little brother" I had nothing to fear. There were nights when I was a kid that I would be afraid, and I would climb into his bed and he'd always move over to make room for me. He was 7 years older than me and he watched over me and my sisters like a doting parent.

I'm going to miss knowing that I have a big brother in the world-just a phone call away. But I now understand that all things are borrowed, up to and including my own life. One day I'll have to return it to it's rightful owner. Our stay in this world is temporary and those who cross our path are on loan.

My mother and I have been comforting one another. She's talking non stop and even she knows it's to keep herself from focusing on my brother's death. From time to time she'll talk about it-she stops herself, and I encourage her to continue. One thing I do know, she is going to need me more than ever now. Fortunately I can devote the time. She told me today that I was her Ace. When her mother died, I flew out to Louisiana to be there by her side. I told her last night that we have to stop vacationing like this. I want her to know that she can rely on me come what may. It's a never ending circle. When I was a newborn, she took care of me, and now it's my turn to be her rock.

I don't want to preach to or lecture anyone. I just would like to ask everyone to take a look at the people who you've borrowed, or those who've borrowed you. Take a look at those who are on loan to you and appreciate them, for nothing truly belongs to us. Our wives and husbands, brothers and sister, mothers and fathers are simply on loan to us-and us to them. Cherish every moment.

Lamarr Marcus O'Neal
April 21, 1956-January 25, 2008

Rest in peace my beloved brother.

TPOKW