Friday, November 21, 2008

What Sadness is This?


My baby brother, Gunnar, has been diagnosed with a brain tumor...first I heard he had one year, and now I hear he could be cured at the Mayo Clinic (he lives just a mile away from it) He is in his forties, the youngest of all seven of us. He has two children, a daughter, a senior in high school, a son, off on his own now. He had a brain tumor when he was a young teenager, and it was stopped with radiation at the Mayo Clinic. Strange that I just blogged about personal planned obsolescence of the body that houses the spirit. Did I know on some level what was coming? probably.

I haven't been around him much at all since I left home at 18. I moved around from state to state, doing my thing, getting married, living on a commune, being an artist selling my jewelry and paintings, having children and such. I remember raising him, caring for his every need, dressing him and all things a big sister can do for a sweet brother when the mom is occupied in her own struggles and not around to take proper care. I moved home for a few months with my Dad building a work bench for my jewelry production so I could continue creating my line and selling to galleries. I took Gunnar to his cobalt treatments when he was fighting his first bout with a brain tumor. After he won that battle I was off and running again. I remember when I would pop into town to stay with the parents and my two youngest brothers, Jan and Gunnar still at home. I would pick him up from high school and we would go for fast food. One time I went into Dunkin' Donuts as he waited in the car. He was the quiet, slightly sardonic sort, not often smiling or showing emotions. He told me to get him the biggest donut they had for him. I went in and they had a novelty donut in the display case, as big around as a large cake, glazed and ready for me to grab up for him! I took it back out to the car in a white wax bag and dropped it onto his lap. As we were driving back to Mom and Dad's, he opened the bag and said it was big enough, hardly cracking a smile, but I knew he was delighted at the absurdity. He started chomping. I was cracking up as we drove on.

Mom and Dad continued on with their personal struggles, and I was usually there to help out with Gunnar and sometimes Jan when necessary. Jan was off with his friends most of the time. They came to stay at the commune with us for a summer when Mom and Dad were having a hard time. I still have a clay elephant Gunnar made and gave to me, with the nose broken off, some of his art work he tried selling at an art fair with me and my jewelry, and a small carving he did of an old man, little tokens of a endearing relationship. He never talked much, but I always cherished knowing him. Since I left the Midwest for good when I was 30, counseled by Mom's therapist that I should go live my life and that Gunnar and Jan would do fine without me, that they had to find their own ways, I have only seen Gunnar maybe 4 times and talked on the phone maybe 20 times at most. Our family does not keep in touch and I do not know why, but we have not made it a priority to visit each other. Life is so short and now he has another grand fight ahead. I have hardly known him and that saddens me, as I do love him so very much. He is a dear sweet soul, very hard working and respected, and loved deeply by his wife and children and by us all. Life is too short and too sweet and full of sorrows at times to balance out the joys, I guess. I am sure some great magic will take hold and he will make it through this to stay on Earth for yet another time, delighting us all. I do project that for him and know that every day impossible, amazing things do happen.

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