A Brother's Farewell…

A Brother's Farewell: Facing Death and Addiction


That night, I heard voices when I slept. I thought I was losing it, something sick. A few months ago, my brother, Darren, split this world for another life. I’d left no tear wasted. When I got the news, I couldn’t bear to carry on. But God put it on me thick when I heard. I heard all about it. Mom told me she knew I hated her, but Tyler had little time for our troubles. I heard people calling doctors over an intercom, and nurses shuffled as Tyler asked for the time.

His sight had gone with the surgery on his spine.

“His drinking?” I said.

“I was a lousy mother,” she said, her voice cracked, sending crackles through the receiver. “He wants to say goodbye.”

The thing about goodbye is that nothing said is enough

to breach the floodgates of memories we learned

to view through filters.

“I don’t know what to say, Mom.” I sighed.

“Say something,” she said. “Say anything.”

“Hand him the phone,” I said.

“I love you,” Mom said.

Mom’s pause told me she was waiting for me to say it, too. She went on to Tyler.

“Who is it?” Tyler said, his voice weak.

“It’s your brother.”

“Seriously?” he said. “Hey.”

“Hi, Tyler,” I said, fighting back tears.

“Wow. It’s you,” Tyler said. “It’s been a while.”

“How’ve you been?” I paced the living room with my wife, reading on the dark couch.

“I went down Darren’s path,” he said, his voice laced with shame. “I went down Dad’s path.”

“I didn’t mean to stay away, but I couldn’t follow that path, Tyler,” I sobbed. “I couldn’t.”

“You’re the last of a dying breed.”

I tried not to, but we laughed anyway.

It was better than sobbing

before he took his last breath.

“You won,” he said, his breathing labored.

“What?” I said, my voice cracking.

“When we were kids, we’d bet on races,” Tyler said, coughing. “Remember that?”

“Settle down,” I heard Mom say.

“We’re in our forties.” His sigh crackled through the receiver. “Forty,” he said. “I can’t believe I made it this far.”

Something tightened my throat. “Don’t give up, man. You’ll get through this,” I said, not even believing it myself.

Tyler took a sip of something that slurped through the phone. “I had the surgery, and drinking didn’t help any.”

“Wait,” I said, shaking my head. “This is because of alcoholism?”

“I told you,” he said, “you won. You got out of this small town. You got away from the people, Mom, and me.”

“I didn’t mean for it to go like this,” I said.

“Like Darren told you, nothing much has gone to plan for us. You jumped from planes for a living. How cool is that? You should have seen the looks on my friend’s face when I bragged about you. You were the first in our family to get a degree. I was busy tending to a bottle and the hope that I’d make something of myself, but you, you made it out.”

“Did the doctor say it’s that bad?” I said.

“I have a day, maybe two. Want to bet this is my last day?” I pictured him smiling.

But I was thinking. “I want you to live, Tyler.”

“And I just want another drink.”

I nodded, knowing he’d accepted his fate.

“I can get you help,” I said, my voice hurried. “We can—”

“I’ve been in and out of drying-out facilities. I weigh ninety pounds. I lost my wife and haven’t seen my son in two years.”

“I can help you,” I said. My wife asked me to sit down. She leaned against me and rubbed my back.

“You already have,” he said.

“How?”

“We got to say goodbye, bro.”

I was listening because I couldn’t speak.

“We’ll be together in heaven, bro.”

I bawled. “Give Darren a hug for me, will you?”

“Of course I will,” Tyler said.

“I’m getting weak,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I tossed the phone away onto the coffee table.

“You guys had it tough,” my wife said. “But you learned how to love.”


By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://writeovercoffee.blog/

X: AC0040