Last night, at 11:29, I sent my Big Brother, 82 years old, an email, apologetically, "I don't know what brought this on tonight. Maybe that I missed three of your calls today and we only spoke for two minutes when we did. But, I can't lose you again.  You were and are too huge a part of my life. ..." 

It went on from there. 

He works Mondays and Fridays, practicing dentistry in nursing homes. So on these days we don't have our daily 8 a.m. calls. I look for his calls anytime in the afternoon and make sure I have the sound turned on on my cell phone (spam calls). Today my phone rang at 3:54

"I've been waiting for your call!", I answered cheerfully. "How'd it go?"

"Oh Dave..."

"WHAT?! WHAT'S THE MATTER?!"

He didn't answer for a second. 

"MILEY! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!"

"Dave, it was bad...so much suffering. ...I was grieving on the way home." 

His voice was breaking, he had cupped the phone for a second to cry. It was the first time in my life I had ever heard him cry.

"MILEY! GODDAMN IT, GET OUT OF THOSE NURSING HOMES AND GO TO THE SCHOOLS!"

It was the first time I had ever spoken to him like that.

Another moment away from the phone to cry.

"...No. Hold on Dave..." Another one. There was at least one more.

"No. I'm going to comfort them, whisper to them in their ears, 'Offer it up to Jesus'".

"Oh great. (sarcastic). That’s just fucking great, Miley. (I am not religious.) STOP GOING TO NURSING HOMES!" 

But he is religious. This is the second time the suffering in his nursing home patients triggered a grief spasm in him. After the first--MUCH more benign than this one--he mused about going into schools to serve under-privileged kids as an alternative. "But it's Clairton! Rough inner city!" What am I going to say to that?

"It just made me think of Anne Marie and how she suffered. " 

"I know, I know..."

"That's what Anne Marie used to say when she'd have an asthma attack. 'Offering it up to Jesus.'" So, I was beat.

His 82 year-old wife died on Jan. 3, after 60 years and 33 days (I think I got that right) of marriage and months of suffering. (I wasn't there. In her last weeks he told me several times, "Oh, Anne Marie is suffering, I break down seeing her suffer." One time I asked, “Miley, is Anne Marie in pain?!" I'm thinking morphine or the equivalent. "Well...No, she isn't in pain"..."WELL THEN SHE'S NOT SUFFERING, IS SHE?!" (I don't have a good bedside manner.) "Don't make this worse than it is! People die, Miley! She's 82 years old, she's been going down hill for 3-4 years, it's an unspeakable personal tragedy but don't torture yourself that it's even worse than dying." Then we get to the fucking service and the goddamned priest says "Only those who suffer enter the Kingdom of Heaven and Ann suffered". The priest said that repeatedly, misspoke her name repeatedly and repeatedly said she had suffered.).

 

 (thought to self) 

What am I going to say to that?

"You know Ben, I haven't been to church since. I can't look at the crucifix."

 

(Jeez, I don't know why!, to self) "I know."

Another moment away and then we changed the subject and then he went to bed. If the Catholic Church would just get away from the homicide scene imagery. But, path to heaven! What am I going to say to that?