Every April

I can’t sleep. Memories of my brother are dancing on my mind...

Three years ago today, my oldest brother Tom passed away. He had a recurrence of melanoma. He was 47.

For four weeks we sat by his hospital bed in a cloud of hope. Even though every minute that ticked away, was a minute of helplessness and despair, we still believed he would survive. But we had no idea how to save him.

As a matter of fact, we didn’t really understand what was going on inside his body. We didn’t know what all the doctors knew and tried to hide on their faces. We didn’t have any idea we were never going to see him again. We couldn’t believe that he might die.

Whenever I look back on those four weeks, from March 12th to April 6th, my heart begins to pound faster. My blood starts pulsating like I’m fighting the clock to see him again. I rack my mind for memories of what I said and did.

Did I tell him I loved him enough? Did I hold him? Could he see the complete and utter adoration I had for him in my eyes?

I tried so hard not to cry in front of him. I didn’t want him to think I was losing hope. I didn’t want him to see how scared I was.

And I was…so scared.

I could see how sick he was. I could see his body betraying him. I could see him losing his grip, day by day, no matter how hard he fought it.

This is what I relive every April. I visit that place in my memory bank that hurts so much. And then I miss him all over again like it was yesterday.

This year I’m having a particularly hard time with it. I think it’s because this year, I have my own diagnosis of cancer. I can relate to his feelings more. His strength and positive outlook, under those circumstances, awaken a whole new batch of emotions and thoughts…I wonder if I did enough for him. God, I hope I did.

I know I mention my brother a lot in my columns. Especially over the past year as I have endured my own battle. But part of who I am is because of him. Writing about him is my way of remembering him. Writing about him brings him to life again, if even for a few moments.

Sometimes I’ll ask him (in Heaven) to give me a sign that he’s okay. And then I’ll look everywhere for one. I’ll see his car or someone who looks like him or I’ll hear one of his favorite songs. I just want something tangible. I feel like if I get a sign, it will tell me he’s still with me and somehow, he can see me growing up, being a mom, loving my family, and loving my life. He can see me remembering him.

A couple of months ago, Mom found his old email address and on a whim, wrote to him. She asked for him to give her a sign too. The next day a telemarketer called. His name was Thomas Burke. They talked for a while and she told him he shared her son’s name and then told him about the note. Coincidence? I don’t know but I think it was her sign. It sure brought her some comfort.

Sometimes I’ll see my brother in my dreams. He looks good. He looks happy. He doesn’t talk about dying or how he died. He is tall and fit and laughing, the way he always was. That’s how I remember him.

Sure, I dip into the memories of the last four weeks of his life, but I also remember our friendship, our same outlook on life, our laughter and how we built on each other’s jokes and laughed so hard we’d both turn bright red and cry. I remember his curly fro, his infectious smile, and his bright blue eyes. I remember how proud he was of me, my brothers and sisters, my parents, his students, and his friends.

I know my brother would not want me to mope around all of April. He wouldn’t want me to mope at all. He would want me to try new things, experience more adventures, and travel to sights unseen. He would want me to live in the present and cherish each moment.

By doing that, I know I am honoring him. I might just do it all year long. I sure hope he’s watching…