So Much Sweetness

A friend posted an article on Facebook where Bill Murray tells a story about physically carrying Gilda Radner around at a party when she was already quite ill. She was tired and ready to leave, but the group hadn't been seeing her much and didn't want her to go. So they took turns carrying her around and saying goodbye to her, over and over, and she was laughing and loving it. It turned out to be the last time he saw her. It's an amazingly sad visual and yet, I'll bet he smiles at the memory. I know I do.

Christmas day, December 25, 2005, one month and one day before my brother's death. We would have traditionally had Christmas at my mom's house or at my sister, Betsy's, house, but my brother, Bobby, was too ill to go anywhere. In fact, too weak to even walk from his upstairs bedroom to the living room downstairs, for the family holiday festivities. We took turns hanging out with him in his bedroom for most of the afternoon, but he really wanted to be downstairs with everyone, all together. My brother wanted his family together, pretty much at all times. I'm relatively sure he was the one who instigated the Sunday family dinners. He also made sure to spend at least one other night of the week (usually Wednesday's for some reason, probably because it was midway between the Sundays) at our parent's house throughout his adult life, and through years and years of cancer and chemo and radiation and whatever clinical trial he was putting himself through, right up until he could not physically get himself over there. Bobby expected the gang to gather not just for all Sundays, but all holidays (I do mean all - not just the big ones), all birthdays (and we're +/-20 strong, so on average two a month), and just about any other reason he could come up with (the Preakness comes to mind).

When I was 24, I bought a one-way ticket to Europe. I planned on backpacking around the continent for about three months -- or as long as my money held out. The only place I knew I would be on any specific date was Paris, two days after my 25th birthday, so my family sent me birthday cards to the American Express office there. One of my fondest memories of that three-month adventure is sitting on the steps of The Palais Garnier on that beautifully sunny, but chilly November 18th afternoon, and opening my cards. My brother's card was so completely and perfectly him: "Happy birthday, little sister. You better be home in time for Christmas or I'm coming to get you. Love, your big brother." I made sure to be home in time for Christmas.

On that Christmas day in 2005, we carried my big brother from his upstairs bedroom, up the narrow hallway, down the flight of stairs that twisted to the right on the way down, through the foyer, to the living room, and into the comfiest chair available. Where he sat and watched his family open gifts and talk and eat and laugh and play and endured photos and enjoyed us being all together until he was too exhausted to sit up any longer. Then we picked him up from that comfy chair and carried him out of the living room, through the foyer, up the flight of twisting stairs, down the hallway, and back into his bedroom and bed. We took turns hanging out with him in his bedroom for the rest of the evening. Never, in a million years, would I have ever thought we would carry my strong, strapping, 6' 2", big brother anywhere, but the memory of carrying him down and up those stairs that Christmas day makes me smile. I think it's because I know how happy it made him. And although I remember, at the time, feeling so completely devastated at how slight and frail he had become and how light he felt, I was happy to carry him wherever he wanted to go, even if it was just down and back up the stairs. There may be tears streaming down my face, but there's a smile on my lips just the same.