Friday, February 16, 2021

Friday Feb. 12, 2021

                                                              

Today they buried my baby brother. He was five years younger than me. He was my baby when we were younger. As a toddler, Chuckie would cry and then hold his breath. Mom would panic and slap him in the face with a wet washcloth. 

Later we moved to a house on the corner of Livernoise and MacKenzie in Detroit, next to the garage my Dad managed. I remember one day deciding to run away. I took my brother with me. I was 8, he was 3. We walked around for maybe 30 minutes. I decided we should go home. No one said a word, including me. I don't think they even realized we were gone. 

After we moved to N. Custer Rd., Chuckie had an old yellow bone hound he named Frank. Frank was a dog my papaw brought home with him. He did that often, usually after a bout of drinking. Chuck loved that old hound.

Chuck was 16 when his girlfriend became pregnant. That meant when he graduated from high school they would get married and he would help raise his daughter. I think as graduation approached he felt like what the hell, my future has been decided. He quit high school, found a job, and married. His two-year-old was there, dressed in a gown like she was a bridesmaid. He loved being a father.

I marveled at what a good father he became. It was not modeled for him. He played with her. He left a good-paying job to work closer to home. They had a seasonal pass for the Zoo. He worked in the yard at the home he bought. Then one day, when he was driving an MG Midget, he was hit by a full-size van. He was 27.

The driver was drunk. She walked away. Chuck was pulled from his car by EMS using the jaws of life. He was in and out of consciousness in the ambulance. When he arrived at the ER he was unconscious. They rushed him to surgery where they removed his spleen. All his other injuries would have to wait. Chuck was in a coma for eight months. Then he woke up. I'm here to tell you, comatose and semi-comatose don't look much different.

For the next forty years, my mom and dad were his caretakers. He was in a wheelchair, unable to get up or go to bed by himself. Unable to dress himself. He was in and out of the hospital many times over the years. He couldn't talk but learned to make himself understood. His body was left with so many reminders of his accident. Too many to list. 

Now he slipped away without fanfare. Not in the hospital. Not sick. And now, I believe, he is reunited with my folks and his ex-wife. He has no pain. He is whole again. When the time comes our family will be together again.