Tonight, after receiving grave family news, I have started to reflect on my life and wonder how I will be remembered. We are given a very short time on this earth to make an impression, to do something good, and to give back to the world. That is how I believe life should be remembered. What good deed did this person do in his or her life?
Looking back on how my brother, Maurice, lived his life and how he should be remembered is very difficult. If there is such a thing as a "black" sheep of the family, ours is Maurice. There are so many events in his life where I believe he deeply wronged someone. I have been trying to push all those depressing events to the side, in an attempt to remember the good times. Those good times were few.
I remember the brother who was my mother's prodigal son. When I was approximately 13yo, I was the one who asked her, "Why don't you want to see your own son." Driven by the guilt that I laid upon her, my mother allowed a then 25yo Maurice to move into her home. In the late 70's, Maurice was a Vietnam veteran and a hippie with a thick Italian accent. My hippie brother introduced my ears to Cat Stevens, Jim Croce, and Ted Nugent. He was going to "stick it to the man." Unfortunately, at times, his family was "the man." During this time, Maurice indulged in street drugs and alcohol, and he served as my cautionary tale. I made a note-to-self, "never try street drugs or become an alcoholic."
In rolled the 80's, with Maurice's continued dizzying wild-child ways. Sometimes I attribute my stubborn ways to him. I wanted to be wild like him, but I would not dare do things that he had. He and my mother would have sternly corrected me (beat my ass.) He married, but never "settled down." I remember the brother who could have a wicked sense of humor. I, too, can be just as wicked. Maurice was the type of person who could charm or bullshit his way through many things. I envied this skill of his. I could not bullshit my way through anything--still cannot. Maurice liked to cook, and at times, was an excellent chef. I detested cooking and wanted no part of it, though deep down, I envied this skill too.
After the death of our mother, in 1998, we eventually stopped communicating with each other. It would take years and his poor health for me to even make an inquiry into his life. Even with several more inquiries, I kept Maurice at a distance. Maurice never stopped indulging in street drugs and alcohol; his life had become a mess and I wanted no part of it. I find myself asking was I being selfish?
Now Maurice is dying. No medical treatment can help him and I remain shocked that his end will come when he is only 57yo. I know how it has come to this, but it is still hard to understand how my brother could have allowed this to happen. Years of neglect and living wild have caught up with him; his body has given up.
It is very hard to lose a family member. I keep struggling to remember the good times with Maurice. I want to remember him as more than a difficult person, contradicting and manipulative. An ass when he was drunk, and funny when he was high. I want to remember him as the big brother who looked out for his baby brother and sister, and eventually taught them a thing or two about life. The only thing that I keep coming back to is my note-to-self so many years ago. There just has to be more, but I cannot see it.
