I see my light come shining. From the West down to the East. Any day now, any day now. I shall be released. - Bob Dylan.

Seven years have now passed since the following events transpired. I have written a number of pieces (not published here) in honour of my brother. There is a certain day that links us forever. This is written and shared in spirit with those who have lost siblings.  

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 “Hank had just finished mowing the lawn when it happened. He just sat down at the picnic table, then fell to the ground. A mild heart attack. Seems like he’s going to be okay though. He was stable when he arrived at the emergency. They transferred him by helicopter to the city hospital.”

“Oh God, if he’s okay why’d they take him to the city?” I said.

“It’s just better that he’s there,”  she said.

“Call me if you hear anything.” I hung up the phone and looked up to the sky.

For answers, I guess. All I saw was a full moon and a red planet staring back at me. 

You know those stupid emails you get? The ones that have been circulating saying Mars is closest to the Earth than its been in eons. Well it isn’t. That’s old news, it was in the summer of 2003. I know because I lived it.

I walked back inside the house. Jack looked at me.

 “What’s wrong?”

 “Hank had a heart attack at eight tonight. They said a mild one. She said he was in stable condition. Holy Christ. I feel woozy.” I said.

 “He’ll probably be okay.” Jack said.

“You don’t know that. Men in my family do not have mild heart attacks. I can’t watch this TV show now. I’m going upstairs." I said.

Walking up the steps, I thought of my brother, the one who looked like Elvis Presley in his younger years.

The one who at fifty-three was planning an early retirement after thirty odd years of working over-time. He was a welder by trade. One of the best. He was always in demand, welding the big ships and freighters that ply the Great Lakes.

Oh Christ. My brother, who just last week was planning the vacation of a lifetime. The one him and his wife never took because he was on call all year-round.

Now this.

Have you ever noticed how everything starts to implode in times of crisis? How information seeps into the brain only in layers. Not all at once, it’s too much.

I’m not a religious person but I find all the words I heard growing up creep into my vocabulary.

Oh Christ, Oh God, Good Lord. God Almighty.

That’s right. He just found out yesterday he was going to be grandfather. The eldest of his two daughters is expecting. Oh Christ, please, let him be okay.

I start to shake. I go to my meditation room and lie flat on my back and try to integrate this into my body. I am breathing with my eyes closed and I feel my cat walk along the left side of my body. Then she stops and curls up right at the crown of my head. She has never done this before. She stays there.

Holy Christ.

I feel my heart pump in my chest. Let it pump by proxy sending fresh blood and oxygen to my brother.

My family was not to hear the word ‘stable’ again. Serious. Critical. I remember researching these terms on the net. Serious. Critical.

Many of you have been in similar situations.

There are many things I could relay about the next three weeks of our lives. How we traveled back and forth to the hospital.

How we took Hank his music (Willie Nelson) to play for him while he was in intensive care, hoping it might help to bring him around. How we watched while his wife and kids washed and shaved him hoping their touch and the scent of his own aftershave might help wake him up.

How I hugged my niece and offered congratulations on her just announced pregnancy. How I saw her younger sister feign optimism to keep the rest of us afloat. How I saw the days turn into weeks and how I saw the light go out of their eyes.

How we watched the monitors, trying not to look but sneaking glances.

And then it happened. On August 14^th, the lights went out. A big blackout. From New York to Toronto and beyond. At first it was reported as a terrorist attack. 

But for me, my brother was laying there on life support when the lights went out. I swallowed hard, my heart in my throat, my eyes wide with fear.

Of course the hospital had a backup generator and it was just a blip. But that was the moment I knew for sure. There was no turning back.

A few days later the doctors laid it on the line. Despite the fact that his heart was now beating strongly and his blood pressure normal, he had no brain activity. It was time to honour his living will and unplug the life support.

Sounds so easy.

Call me naïve, call me wishful. Call me raised on too many episodes of Dr. Kildare and Marcus Welby, M.D. but I was not prepared.

My brother hung on with the tenacity of a warrior for two more weeks. It was only starvation that would take him. He died on my birthday that year. Right around supper time.

You may think this is sad. And of course, it is.

But you see after the blackout, I knew he wasn’t coming back.  He could only go one way. Toward the light. 

He was released. Relieved of his suffering. Under the circumstance, it was the best gift a sister could wish for.