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The Blood of My Brother
By Ray Fauteux of ironstruck
For as far back as I can remember into the earliest days of my childhood my father was a drunk. He was so much of a drunk in fact that family rumor has it that his alcoholism made my mother insane and drove her away forever, long before I was ever old enough to even have the visage of her face etched into my memory. For the rest of my life I never saw her again and missed out on the warmth of her hug and the radiance of her smile. I never basked in the protectiveness and the comfort all mothers in the Universe bestow upon their children. I was denied a mother's magic that could have made the scrapes and bruises of growing up so much easier to bear. In what became a shattered family my brother and sister lived far from me, each of us running from memories and emotions from which escape was impossible. Even with the passing of decades the demons of our youth would not release their hold. We never were involved in each others lives and like strangers, we never knew or desired to share the journey of life our siblings had embarked on. Than one day a hospital far away tracked me down to say my brother was dying of cancer and would I be interested in being tested as a bone marrow donor? They had found my sister and she was not a match and I was his last hope. Although they never said that, I somehow knew I was. I had not seen him in 45 years and he was a stranger. But he was still my brother. Here was a chance in the clutches of death to bring life to a family that never was. Here was a chance to form a bond that we never had. I never hesitated and went for the blood-work. I was so confident that I had the right blood coursing through my veins, but I did not, and my brother soon died without me ever seeing him again. What must my brother have thought to learn that both his brother and sister could not help him in his darkest hour? Worse yet, maybe he never even knew that we tried. It was only by his death that I learned about his love for hockey and his lifetime as a soldier with the PPCLI in Canada. He was active in Desert Storm and a paratrooper, and had served in two tours of duty with NATO in Cypress with the Peace Keeping Forces. Those who knew him said he was a loner and quiet and stayed mostly to himself, but was self-confident, reliable, street-smart and seldom shared his inner-most feelings. In one sentence that described me. Both of us were sons of a long dead father who once again let us down and could not even pass on the matching blood-work to save the life of a son and brother.
When I scattered my brothers ashes into the wind the sadness I felt and the tears that flowed were not for his passing and what was, but rather for not ever truly knowing him in life and what could have been. Years later on those nostalgic days when I fondly unwrap his NATO blue beret and run my fingers over it I wonder what might have been if only I had been blessed with the blood of my brother.
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PLEASE VISIT THE CONTRIBUTOR'S WEBSITE
Ironstruck
A free site for the beginner triathlete/no
www.triathlon-ironman-myfirstironman-iro...k.com
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Hi Ray, thanks for sharing your intel. Definitely a 5 star. Im sure your brother knew you tried to help him. You still have a sister, its not to late to reach out to her.
Best wishes always,
Gina
Thanks for sharing a moving story Ray. That's a brother to be proud of. You know, you mention "I never basked in the protectiveness and the comfort all mothers in the Universe bestow upon their children" but not all mothers necessarily are good mothers. There are just as many bad moms as there are bad dads. You may not have missed out on much. And you turned out pretty well in the end.
Very moving story and well written. You seem to have found peace in sharing your story with us and I thank you.
The copyright for this content entitled "The Blood of My Brother" has been specified by the contributor as:
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http://ytriguy.qondio.com/
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