When my oldest brother, Matthew, was six years old, doctors found a cancerous tumor at the base of his skull. They operated, removed the tumor, and began aggressive treatment to rid Matt of all the cancer. Before that time, Matt was a rambunctious, smart, at times frustratingtly stubborn little boy. He loved baseball, the Carpenters, and pulling me around in the red Radio Flyer wagon. After the tumor, he was permanently damaged in significant ways. He would never grow to be more than 4’11” (though, if you asked him at any point throughout his life, he would bullheadedly tell you he was 5’11”, which, I told him, bullheadedly, would have made me 6’4”). He would never grow a full head of hair. He would never have a girlfriend. He would never drive a car, or play varsity baseball, or live on his own. <\/p>\n
I was one month shy of my first birthday when the doctors found Matt’s tumor. So I never got to know the little boy my parents and older brother did. I’ve only heard stories about him. The brother I knew would give me “Indian burns” on my arms, would mumble words to songs he didn’t know, which frustrated me to no end, and would claim someone set up booby traps for him if he accidentally ran into a chair or when something would fall out of the freezer when he opened the door. And when he’d annoy me to the point where I finally said, “Whatever, Matt,” and turned to walk out of the room, he would say, in complete sincerity, “Yeah, you better run.” You know, typical annoying sibling behavior.<\/p>\n
But Matt was also a fantastic older brother. He was the one who taught me that if you are afraid to be in the bathroom by yourself, you can just pretend the Muppets are in there with you. Of course, Matt had a vested interest in me being unafraid in the bathroom. His bedroom was directly across from the bathroom and I think he was getting tired of me going in there and having to leave the door open.<\/p>\n
He also taught me to read in my head. The concept had been alien to me before, but anyone who knows what a reader I am today knows what an impact this seemingly little lesson had.<\/p>\n
Growing up in a small town, everyone knew who Matt was. He was the manager of the football, basketball, and baseball teams throughout junior high and high school. He was a member of the FFA. He was extremely popular, particularly with the teachers. At least twelve times my freshman year in high school, a teacher would approach me in the hall and tell me I needed to be nicer to Matt. Then they would tell me how he related elaborate stories of my cruelty, which usually amounted to me calling him a butthead, which he more than likely deserved. But Matt’s sense of justice was keen, and any slight was viewed as atrocity.<\/p>\n
For a long time, Matt was capable of what now seem like great things. He could cook for himself, shower on his own, brush his teeth, tie his own shoes. Then he would have an “episode,” for lack of a better word. He’d have a stroke, which was usually followed by a weeks-long stint in the hospital. He’d be on death’s door, and we’d all say our goodbyes and make peace with the idea of a life without him. We never thought he’d grow to be old and gray, but that never made the idea of his passing any less devastating when it was close. <\/p>\n
Then, miraculously, he’d get better. Each time, though he’d have some new malady to cope with: epilepsy, diabetes, decreased spatial awareness, etc. But we’d thank our stars he was better and be grateful for each day we had with him. Then, several months or years later, we’d go through it again.<\/p>\n
This afternoon, we said goodbye to Matt for the last time. I never realized how exhausting it is watching someone breathe, wondering whether this one will be the last one. I held my breath everytime there was an extra long space between his. And eventually, there were no more, spaces or breaths. <\/p>\n
I’ve always known this day would come. And even though I’ve prepared myself a thousand times for it, I can’t get used to the idea that Matt will never know my babies.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
When my oldest brother, Matthew, was six years old, doctors found a cancerous tumor at the base of his skull. They operated, removed the tumor, and began aggressive treatment to rid Matt of all the cancer. Before that time, Matt was a rambunctious, smart, at times frustratingtly stubborn little boy. He loved baseball, the Carpenters, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.hickopolis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/93"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.hickopolis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.hickopolis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.hickopolis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.hickopolis.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=93"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.hickopolis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/93\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.hickopolis.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=93"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.hickopolis.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=93"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.hickopolis.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=93"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}