On my last post P – Phone Ghost, I deleted a comment from an anonymous poster because it was a message for me personally.
A chastisement, actually. And probably deserved.
It reminded me that I have a brother. On that post, I should have extended the sentence “The last of my immediate family was gone” by adding the words “… with whom I was on speaking terms.”
He and I have been estranged since just a few months after our mother's death in November of 2000.
I won’t go into the why because not a single thing I could say would make either of us look good.
So I kept him out of the post. It stands as memoir, not autobiography.
For the record, Mark and I have seen each other three times over the last twelve years, and those occasions were fine, though two involved death. Our sister’s, and just a couple of years ago, our aunt’s.
But we got along.
I will do him justice by saying that he handled all of the arrangements for Deborah, including donating her body to UT Southwest Medical Center or some other research facility in the area, something I know she would have wanted.
He also set up a lovely memorial service at the church she attended.
He did well.
He currently has her ashes and I would trust them to no one else save our cousin Chandra. Deborah meant as much to him as to me.
In this photo, taken twenty-something years ago, I'm on the far left. Mark is on the right. The gentleman in the center is the late Adam Roarke, acting coach and friend, and one of Quentin Tarantino's favorite actors.
The deleted post went on to say … “Each day you both grow older and I pray each night that this time will end and brothers will reunite as they should.”
Yes, we are getting older. I’m 55 and he’s 46. I’ll blink and be 75 to his 66, or maybe one or both of us won’t ride the train that far down the line.
To that, my friend Jodie’s Q post has become a venous hum for me today. Q – is for Quality of Life
Venous hum in the best of ways.
Mark and I should talk.
The question is how.