The Day My Brother Died

Your sweet eyes knew the darkness in a soul. You suffered for your sanity. I am reminded of the lyrics from “Vincent” by Don McLean, “they would not listen, they did not know how, perhaps they will listen now”. I still see your face the last day you were on this earth. You looked like an old man who had seen the worst in humanity, sallow, not at peace. Your eyes opened one last time, in a moment of shock before closing forever. I remember the sounds, the smell of the room, the colors of the lights. I remember the feeling in my heart that was so painful. I swore to you that day I would never let you be forgotten. Your life mattered. My sweet brother. I wish I had known you better. I suppose I am one of those that did not know how to listen.

It was like any other Monday. I was working, caught up in the rush and activity of the day. It was mid-afternoon when I saw that Rick had called me. He never called me during the work day so I knew something was wrong. Somehow I knew it was about you, Eric. When I listened to the voice mail, it was not at all what I expected. Hearing Rick screaming on the other end, telling me you had hung yourself took me a few minutes to process. I just stood there, confused, not really understanding. I tried to call back but did not get an answer. When it hit me what he said, I lost all control. I started screaming uncontrollably, just saying “no” over and over. Some of my co-workers came running (as anyone would hearing someone else screaming) and I could barely get the words out of what had happened. I fell to the floor, unable to stand anymore. I don’t remember much for the next short time after, except I know people from work got me home.

All I wanted was to get to Rick’s house. I don’t really remember driving there, but when I arrived, there were police everywhere. They were collecting “evidence” and grilling Rick on what happened. I thought you were dead already, but you had been revived and taken to the hospital. I realized someone needed to be at the hospital with you and I decided I needed to head there. What would I see when I got there? I was alone. Rick had to deal with the police before he could get there. I was scared. I knew it would be traumatic to see him, and a wonderful nurse prepared me for it on the way to his room. However, seeing him was nothing I could prepare for. Seeing my older brother laying on a stretcher with a collar around his neck, a ventilator hooked up to him, IV’s everywhere, and thin blanket barely covering his naked body. It was all too much.

Doctors were in and out. They all said the same thing. They were not hopeful. He died on the way to the hospital and was down for 10 minutes. We don’t know how long he was dead before Rick got to him. The bottom line was, he was not coming back. I could not sit still. I paced around the room until they finally moved him up to the ICU. The next few days were spent testing him for brain activity and for any organ donation. My older sister, Nancy arrived to spend some time with him. It was the first time the 4 of us had been together in over 10 years, and it would be the last.

It was decided that we would take Eric off the vent and allow the surgeons to remove his kidneys for donor transplant. That meant more testing for him, but it was determined those were the only organs they could take. Ricky and I opted to be in the operating room with him during the removal of the vent. We got into these suits that covered everything on us, gloves, masks, and shoe covers and entered the room with Eric. He was set up for the surgery and we were told once the vent was off it should not take long for him to stop breathing. If it took him longer than hour, or he kept breathing on his own for that amount of time, the kidneys would not be viable. They pulled his vent and Eric was breathing on his own. We stood there, with the operating staff, for an hour. Eric was not ready to go yet and he continued to breathe on his own. It was the most excruciating hour of my life. I was nervous and anxious and felt like the staff was just staring at us, disappointed that he was not dying yet. Turns out, later, they were able to harvest his eyes, skin, bone, and veins. What an amazing thing my brother did by donating what he could to help other people. He is a true hero to me.

Afterwards, he was back into his room where he would stay one more night and then be moved to a regular room. Once in the regular room, he would pass away that evening. I was alone with him when he died. I was so used to hearing his breathing, that when it finally stopped I was surprised. He left us in a way I did not expect. The gentleness of this man was reflected in his final breath. The momentary shock in his body which caused his eyes to open one last time, passed just as quickly as it happened and all that was left was stillness.

I write this now to remember you, Eric. I write it in the hopes that others will understand and work harder to help those around them by having conversations, breaking the silence and breaking the stigma.

I can still hear “Vincent” now as I am writing this. “And when no hope was left inside, you took your life”. But I could have told you, Eric… this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.