I have anxiety. Bad. I get super anxious hearing other people talk on the phone. My husband makes all calls unless I absolutely have to talk to someone, like for my work. He even has permission to talk to our family doctor and psychiatrist for me. All of that to say, I don’t talk to family on the phone. I always got updated about family by Mom, who would talk to various family members throughout the week. Since I lived with her, I was kept in the loop. All that changed after she died. Family hung around for maybe the first year or two, but then radio silence on both our parts, save a FB group chat with some of my cousins and me.
Around the beginning of April in 2019, one of my aunts called me. She is Mom’s sister-in-law (aka “sister-in-love”), and Mom made her medical power of attorney before she died so my brother and I wouldn’t have to make hard decisions. She, of course, consulted us before making any decisions. I just love this aunt to pieces.
Anyway, my aunt called me and asked if my husband was home, and she wanted me to go to the same room as him. I did so, internally starting to panic. I begged her to please talk to him, I didn’t want to hear what she had to say. By this time, my husband was standing by me, obviously concerned. He caught me when my world fell apart once more.
My big brother (“Bub”), my childhood torturer and hero and only sibling, had a heart attack at work and was found unresponsive. He was taken to Johns Hopkins, where they did all they could, running tests and trying to normalize his temperature and checking for brain activity. He had just turned 39 the month prior.
Since Mom’s car was on the fritz and my husband didn’t think it would make it that far without issues, my cousin was going to take us over the weekend, but Bub didn’t last that long. He left behind an amazing wife and two beautiful, sweet daughters.
A couple of days before they turned the machines off, my sister-in-law called and put the phone to Bub’s ear so I could tell him goodbye. I mostly blubbered and told him I was sorry and that I loved him. He died 9 days before Mom’s death anniversary, 19 days before my birthday. I don’t celebrate my birthday anymore.
I rolled back the time and have been 29 years old for a few years. Everyone started dying after I turned 30. I lost my aunt and my dad the year I turned 30. Dad was a deadbeat, and that drama/trauma is a whole ‘nother story (complete with an Evil Stepmother). I lost Sprinkles, Mom, Ashes, and Soxers all in one year, and two uncles who were surrogate fathers. I’m just done.
Cari R Esta 