(Said, Unsaid)
Aug 27: T Minus 50
Dear Uncle, 5 days ago my brother was placed in a medically induced coma. The doctors assure us he is fine and will wake him within 3 weeks.
You have known him since his genesis.
She found you through him.
Sep 13: T Minus 34
Dear Uncle, he is confused, but awake in rehab.
You say nothing.
Are you not relieved?
Can you hear me, Uncle?
Sep 14: T Minus 33
Dear Uncle, my brother is sedated again to treat the bacterial growth in his blood. He was oxygen deprived for an extended time, resulting in a brain injury. Now we wait to see if he will wake. He was moved to a long-term care facility.
Are you there?
A quarter of an hour
before they could jump-start his cadence.
You know the sanctity of the heart’s aria.
We do not understand; brain death,
that he will never wake up,
that his body cannot function on its own.
We forget hospice is where we run out the clock.
These horrors have carved you before.
Oct 16: T Minus 1
Uncle, the hospice doctors do not expect my brother to make it through the night.
Say something, damnit!
130 pounds whittled away in weeks,
another infection he cannot best,
temperatures he cannot quell.
It is time to say good-bye.
Stone walls heal no one, Uncle.
Oct 17: Day Zero
Brother of my Father, my brother has passed.
You are liberated of title, rank, and duty.
Spit it into the kiln and cremate it.
It cannot be reanimated.
Shaven, he simulates his youth.
The women recount tales,
brush his dense mane of curls,
fracture in mourning.
The automated aid at rest,
my Tungsten mother decays into Cesium,
clutching the bloated hand of her babe,
begging him, “Wake up.”
Somewhere Over the Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole transports the last of him onward.
No chance for just one more
Pride week,
laugh with his family,
or dalliance with a lover.
No last call.
No conscious farewells,
my train is arriving later,
meet me at the station.
My brother is dead at 36.
You will never bear witness this family scar.
It is imperative for the men
to uphold their traditions
of absence and generational trauma.
Oct 20: 3 Days After
Brother of my Father, here is the link to my brother’s memorial service details.
Was his oxygen tank full
every trek you made
through him
to them?
We are a nostalgia
lost to you:
past, present, and future.
You have your upgrade.
Oct 21: 4 Days After
Daughter of My Husband’s Brother, Thank you for letting us know.
My husband has lived your pain.
It will not be acknowledged.
Ever.
Dec 5: 49 Days After
Dear Niece, Here is a kaiju post I thought you might get a kick out of.
Your saga is not the fable I sold myself.
Your testament would be an evisceration.
As you can see, I am over the moon with my new family.
But hey kiddo, keep sending the funny posts.