When my brother died in a house fire, about 15 years ago, there was lot's of speculation about how it happened. The coroner told my Pop and me and my mom how Jim died close to the door, struggling to get out. He wasn't burned, he was just trying to get out. He died of smoke inhalation. He was 28 or 29 at the time I guess. Poor bastard. He led a troubled life. No, it wasn't troubled, it was awful. He was hopelessly lost from birth. The medical file from when he was born (he was adopted like me) said he didn't have enough oxygen to his brain when he was born and he'd forever be plagued by a learning disability. Forever plagued he was. Maybe not forever, but for his lifetime, yes, it was plagued. He was always the kid in trouble. He was always the kid that did the wrong thing. He was always the one that took the hard way. He always made the wrong decisions. But that doesn't mean he was stupid. Stupid he was not. He knew more about how things worked than anyone I've ever met. He was one of those guys that just "got it" when it came to mechanical things. If he didn't understand it by just looking at it, he asked questions until he did. He asked a million questions. He had to find out how things worked. I sometimes wonder what he'd be doing now in the digital age. I know he'd google everything like me. I know he'd use the internet to do bad stuff. But the guys who do the wrong things with the internet ultimately know how it all works. He definitely was a black hat kind of guy.
So when he died it was shocking, as young deaths always are. But surprising it wasn't. But this isn't really a post about how I felt and what I went through. I'll never get over that one. No matter how awful my relationship was with my big brother, I'll never get over the loss of him. In many ways he was like my little brother.
Now then...
Tonight on "the News" at 11:00, the lead was about a local man who was killed in Iraq, and how the locals were dealing with it. They had a quote from the deceased father and on and on. Peace be to their family for sure. I hate stories like that. But it reminded me of when my brother died, (i don't say "passed" like to make it sound less emphatic, the dude died, he didn't pass). Jim died sometime in the night, late as I remember, like after midnight, before dawn. I don't really remember. I only remember that it was on Saint Patrick's day and that the coroner showed up at our house before I was awake. Let me rephrase that. I had closed the bar (working not drinking) the night before, and my mom woke me up in my bed screaming and crying. Might've been 11:00am or 7:30, I don't really remember. But soon thereafter, the coroner and a cop showed up to tell us the details and to schedule a time for my folks to come and view the body...a formality to identify the body.
Anyways, It was that night, after a million phone calls from friends, neighbors, work associates, and people we hadn't heard from in years had called. The 11:00 news came on, and Jim was the third or fourth story. I was watching because back then I usually watched it when I was home. They read the story and mispronounced our last name (of course), then mentioned that when contacted, my Dad had no comment. What a shitty night. And it was St. Pat's and I should've been at the bar making my biggest tips of the year. And, believe it or not, I was going in to work, but my boss talked me out of it.
There's no real resolve to this post tonight. I was just reminded of the day when I heard about the local young man dying and it was the lead story. I'm so sorry for his parents. I've watched parents grieve. I can't imagine it.
Hug your kids....
