I sat by my brother at Moms celebration of life. I knew he would do fine. His autism, I kept repeating to myself over and over, would preclude any emotional outbursts. I envied him; I knew I would lose it at some point. Drop the basket is the term Mom would use. I had prayed so fervently in hopes that I could make it through the song. The sharing time was going to be the wild card. I had made the video, written her biography, created the slide show... I was prepared for all of that. What I wasnt prepared for was the thing that happened to my brother during the service. I am used to Johns awkward hugs that are sometimes too tight, most of the time too brusque, and always uncomfortable. Thats just who he is and I love him for it; Im thoroughly convinced that emotional block is what saved his life when he had cancer. So I was prepared for John to be... well... John, to repeat things he had heard other people say in that matter-of-fact tone that he normally did. It was Moms video, the very one that I had put together, that broke me. I couldnt figure out whether to smile or cry and so I did an equal portion of both. I felt a hand on my back, patting me tenderly, like one would pat a baby. I turned to look, thinking it was my friend, Caryn, sitting behind me. As I turned my head, John was leaning into me and it was his hand that was trying to comfort me. It was his hand that was reaching out, not for something, but to offer something. Its gonna be ok, Sissy, and he slowly shook his head up and down. I couldnt breathe. I couldnt do anything but look straight at him, at those greenish eyes that are just like mine, and believe that what he said was true. It had to be true. John doesnt know how to lie. And while this loss, this monumental loss has cracked my heart wide open, it has done something that no one believed could ever be done: it has knicked the wall that is my brother. I knew it was going to be ok probably the way John had known that the cancer was going to be ok - because someone I loved and trusted had told me it was going to be ok. I remember Mom saying that sometimes it was so hard to live with the fact that John was such a concrete person, that there was no wiggle room, that it either IS or it IS NOT and here is no in between. I think she would find it ironic that it was Johns lack of wiggle room that snapped me back from eying a very dark road that beckoned to me. You see, my autistic brother was absolutely right because he cannot be mostly right and he cannot offer up things to comfort unless he believes they are true. So somewhere, locked in his mind and heart, there must be something that knows that it is, in fact, going to be ok. And Ill take that for now.
Posted on: Mon, 27 Oct 2014 15:50:19 +0000
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