One thing I really admire about my brother is that he just does things. He thinks it might be interesting to do something, and he does it. He once said that he has no regrets. That blew my mind because I had nothing but regrets. Well, at least I used to before my medical crisis. I looked at all the roads I had not taken, and I second-guessed the paths I did take.
That’s not to say everything turns out for my brother. They don’t. But he picks himself up off the floor, brushes himself off, and continues on. It’s really interesting. I am someone who feels things way too deeply. He’s someone who doesn’t feel things much. He’s told me he feels the basics–happy, sad, etc., but it’s very shallow. I just thought of something. His ex-wife had no sense of smell, so she could only taste the very basics. Sweet, sour, salty, etc. My brother is the same with feelings.
When I was in the hospital and unconscious, my medical team tried to prep my brother for the probability that I would not wake up. The social workers tried to probe into his feelings and get him to express them. They told him that he would most likely have to plan my funeral. My brother said that there was nothing he could do about that in the moment, and he would deal with it when and if it happened.
I laughed when he told me that because that is so like my brother. And I could imagine the look on the social workers’ faces as he said that. But they should be used to it because people react to grief in different ways. I know how it sounds. My brother has told me that he would deal with it if I died, and it sounds cold–but it’s not. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about me–he does. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me–he does.
Do you know how I know? Because he shows me. When my car got a flat, he came over the next morning to put the spare on. Several decades ago, the same thing happened when I was at work. I came out in sub-zero temps to see a very flat tire. I called my brother and he came over to change it for me. Another time, my car wouldn’t start and he came over to help me out.
When I was in the hospital, he was the one who coordinated everything. He set up a Caring Bridge journal in which he wrote updates every day. He directed people there if they wanted to know what was happening to me. He came and visited me every day and talked to teh medical team. He was the one who had to make the decisions as to what to do with me.
He was told the day before I woke up that he was going to have to make a decision about pulling the plug or not. As he was mulling that, the medical team called him and told him that I woke up.
He also Zoomed in our parents and my friends. He was the one who broke the news to them as well. As he was doing all this, he also had to do his daily life as well. Taking his kids where they needed to go. Doing his business. He’s always busy as hell, and me being in the hospital didn’t change that.