“Bye, love you,” was routine.  I had said these words every time we parted ways.  These weren’t the last words I wanted to say to him.  Not in such an impassive way.  But you never get to choose.

It all started when I was young.  My brother had split custody between his mom and our dad.  He lived with his mom in Kansas, so he spent summers with us in St. Louis.  Whenever he came into town, we did a lot of normal brother and sister things.   As we got older, he started bringing a friend, a girlfriend, and eventually his family. Whenever he would get ready to return home, we would always say “Bye, love you,” hug, and he’d be gone.  Just like that.  But I always knew I’d talk to him as soon as he got home safe.  When I was young, saying goodbye always made me cry.  The older I became, the crying stopped as I grew dependent on the fact that I would see him again. 

The last time I got to see my brother was three weeks before he died.  Before this visit, I hadn’t seen him in at least a year.  He and my parents were in some sort of disagreement.  So, my brother and I would text and talk on the phone when we could.  He called me a week before my cousin’s wedding to inform me that he was coming into town, and I was elated.  I felt like I had missed out on so much in the past year that I couldn’t wait until the Friday night they’d arrive to catch up.  My brother and his family got in after I had left to stay with my cousin for wedding preparations, so our reunion didn’t occur until that Saturday.  I was on edge until my sister told me that they’d arrived.  I walked out of the back room into the open arms of my niece and nephews.  I then hugged my sister-in-law, and saw my brother last.  He looked awful.  The story goes that he got some sort of food poisoning from the night before, and threw up on his way to the wedding.  He and I didn’t get to talk much before the wedding, but we talked for a long time during the reception.  He threw up two or three more times before he started to feel better. 

When my entire family got back to my house Saturday night, we just hung out.  I drove my brother to QT and White Castle because he was starving by that point.  Nothing special happened on Sunday, and my brother and his family left that Monday before I left for school.  I hugged my niece and nephews and my sister-in-law before they got in the car.  I hugged my brother last, saying “bye, love you,” and he got in the driver’s seat and pulled away. 

Two weeks later, my dad received a phone call.  My sister-in-law said she returned from work to find my brother laying on the ground, unable to move.  She rushed him to the hospital.  My entire family was worried, but all we could do was hope and pray he’d be fine.  The next morning, Thursday, we were updated; my brother’s kidneys were failing.  He hadn’t produced bodily fluids, leaving his body with no way to remove toxins.  His blood sugar was over 300, and his blood oxygen levels were extremely low.  The doctors gave my brother a 50/50 chance of survival.  Because of this, my father and my aunt made plans to leave Friday morning for Kansas, in case his condition worsened.  Thursday night at 1am, my brother’s heart stopped for the first time.  He was revived, but intubated because he could no longer breathe on his own.  My father and aunt left Friday morning before I woke for school.  I thought about my brother all day because I didn’t hear of Thursday night’s events until the beginning of the school day when I nagged my mother for information.  My brother coded twice more before the end of school that day.  When I got home I dozed off on the couch waiting for an update from my dad.  I was prodded awake by my mom, who said that my brother had coded for a fourth time.  Every time he coded, the time it took to revive him increased.  During this time, he lost so much oxygen to his brain that even if there was a slim chance of him waking up, he would have suffered severe brain damage.  This is when my father and sister-in-law signed a DNR (do not resuscitate).  My brother coded once more, and I was informed that he had passed away a little after 5pm. 

In a 72 hour span, the doctors had run every test imaginable.  They didn’t, and still do not, have a definitive answer for the rapid deterioration of my brother’s life.  The best guess is that my brother was an undiagnosed diabetic, and his lifestyle wasn’t healthy for someone with this condition.  The disease affected him for so long that by the time he got to the hospital, there wasn’t anything the doctor’s would’ve been able to do.  There is no assured correlation between his condition at the wedding, and his condition leading up to his death. 

It’s been four months since my brother died, and I can’t say that I’ve grieved completely.  I don’t think I’ll ever be done grieving.  Out of every family member, I was closest with my brother.  We were very much alike, and I turned to him whenever I was struggling.  He could make the best out of every situation, and put everything I went through in perspective.  Although my brother lived in a different state and didn’t affect my everyday routine, I will mourn his absence at every milestone.  When I graduate high school, and college, he will not be there.  When I buy my first apartment/house, he won’t be able to congratulate me.  He won’t be there to scorn my stupid mistakes.  When I get married and have children, I will do so without advice from him.  I haven’t made sense of what my life will be like without my brother.  All I know is he’ll always hold a place in my heart, and I miss him a little more everyday.