Journal # 6
"For these things I weep; my eye, my eye overflows with water;" (Lamentations 1:16 (a) )
My trip to Brooklyn, New York was two-fold, to meet my in-laws and for a vacation. However, things were not working out for me. It was in the middle of summer and I had gotten sick. I had a terrible cold and was very congested. My husband was his "sweet self" as usual. So, I decided to call home and see how my older daughter was doing and to speak to my mother. My younger brother, Louis answered the phone and I spoke to him very briefly. He asked me how I was doing and if everything was all right. I told him everything was okay. I spoke to my mother and ended the call. A couple of days later, they called me and they told me one of my brothers attempted suicide. My mind immediately went to my brother, who is two years younger than me, because he was having a relationship issue with a woman he truly loved and she had broken up with him. He was never the same after that fiasco. I told my husband what had occurred and I needed to return home immediately. I called the airlines and they placed me on standby, all the while, praying. I eventually, got on a flight and one of my other brothers, came to get me to take me straight to the hospital. It was the youngest of my siblings, my baby brother, Louis. He was just turning twenty-one. I knew he wasn't a baby but since I was the eldest of the clan, I took care of him when he was a kid. The strange thing was before I had made the trip to the States, I was cleaning out his bedroom one day and I ran across a torn piece of paper which had written on it some suicidal thoughts. I gave it to my father at the time and I told him to please speak to my brother. My father read it, said nothing but he went and had a talk with him. Louis was also having some problems with one of his so-called friends. He had purchased a second- hand car and this friend had it in his possession because Louis had given it to him for the purchase of some type of drug.
My brother was a good kid, and went to a good school. He was an acolyte at his church. He served on Sundays from the age of ten to twelve. When he started high school he got into the wrong crowd. He started smoking marijuana and it began to change him. He was working and I convinced him to open a bank account and he and I were in a joint account. He was allowed to deposit and when he needed money he would ask me to take it out for him. For his birthday I bought him a gold chain with a pendant of the serenity prayer, he loved it. We were close. I looked out for him but I knew he was a man and he needed his privacy. He and his older brother had a garage restoring old cars and repairing broken ones, they also did gates, and burglar proof for windows. Louis did the welding. He was 6 feet 2 inches in height, tall and handsome for a brother. He was strong physically and he knew how to put down a plate of food in "two twos." When I was pregnant with my first daughter and my father was giving me a difficult time, Louis supported me. When I had my daughter, he was the best uncle. He bought her stuff, and spoiled her rotten and she loved him with all her heart. Now, I didn't know at the time how to process what was unraveling right before my eyes. All I knew I had to be strong for my other siblings and pray without ceasing.
I arrived at the hospital with my other siblings who told me what had occurred. The story was his friend did not want to return his car and the girl he fancied, wouldn't talk to him because her father did not approve of the relationship. He took that to heart. A couple of weeks before, he had gotten a puppy as a gift, we named her Shandy. She was a mixed breed, not sure of what. On the night Louis came home from one of his nocturnal activities with his friends. He reached up on a high cabinet in the garage and took down the Gramozone pesticide and took it up to his bedroom. When he got there he took up two Bibles placed one at the head of the bed and one at the bottom of the bed. One was opened to Psalm 42. He took the Gramozone and drank it and started coughing and vomiting. One of my other brothers lived downstairs in what used to be the maid quarters. He came up the stairs to investigate and saw a horrific scene. He immediately shouted for my parents and they came running to Louis' bedroom. My parents were beside themselves but they managed to get him quickly to the hospital along with my two brothers. When they got to the triage room every available nurse and doctor came to assist. My brother put up a real fight for them to treat him with activated charcoal. It took about five emergency technicians to restrain him and to administer the charcoal. They only got down a little and my parents and siblings were informed that the damage of the pesticide my have already begun it lethal work.
My brother Louis lived for thirteen days. I called it in one of my earlier blogs thirteen days of redemption. We drew closer to one another in this crisis and we got to spend time with Louis. I gave him a small New Testament Bible to read and I told him God loved him. I encouraged him to get better and to come home. I encouraged my father to speak to him and to tell him how much he loved him, and he did. My mother was a mess. But I held it all in and every chance I got I spent it with him. We took turns at night. We were encouraged one day when we saw him sitting up on a chair while the nurse's aid changed the sheets and pillow case. He said he felt a little better and he was holding on. However, the doctor told my parents about the extensive damage to his lungs. The tissues in the roof of his mouth were falling away. If he survived he would have to spend time in the suicide ward and get a great deal of mental health intervention. On the thirteenth day, my younger sister and I were to take breakfast to Louis. We usually went about five o'clock in the morning. But that night there was a party at one of the neighbors and we didn't get much sleep and overslept. We got dressed quickly and made breakfast to take to Louis. When we got to the hospital I knew something was awry. He was sitting up fighting to breathe, his breathing was shallow, the nurse was holding his hand and he said to us you are late. The nurse told us he was waiting for us. She said he was ready to go. He was dying and had been holding on for us to be with him. I began to feed him a soft boiled egg. I told my sister to go and call my parents and let them know what was happening. My sister delivered the message and rushed up to the ward. She was on one side of the bed and I was on the other side with the nurse, as we held on to his hands. I knew Louis was ready and needed our permission to go. So I told him we loved him and it was okay to go and he leaned back on the pillow and his breath expired with a sweet smile on his lips.
After the funeral there were friends and family members at the house and I was in my bedroom with my daughter. She did not take it too well. She never had closure because she never got to say goodbye to her favorite uncle. I wanted to protect her and I wanted her to remember him as he was, strong and vibrant and full of life. I thought it was the right thing to do at the time. Now, I wasn't sure if I did the right thing. At the graveside she cried and cried and made gestures to climb down into the hole in the ground where the coffin laid. Someone took a hold of her and comforted her. That night she came and told me she was hearing singing coming from above. I knew she was hearing the angels. I knew Louis made it home with Jesus. He was given grace, thirteen days to repent of his sin and to make things right. I knew Louis died in peace and God was letting us know Louis was safe in his arms and safe in heaven. I did not know much back then about the Word of God as I do now and still learning but one thing I knew, Louis made it to heaven. It took us a long time to heal and I don't think my parents were ever able to reconcile that one of their children has gone on to be with the Lord and they are still here. It was not suppose to be that way at all. We all recognized each one would heal in their own time. It took me three years to truly realize the impact and the gaping wound it left in my soul. That was one of the main reasons I made my career in mental health and substance abuse. There were five of us, now there are only four remaining.
Today, I am no longer afraid of death or the author of death. As a Christian none of us have the right to be fearful of death. Why? Because the Word of God said, we will never die. We have eternal life in Christ Jesus. When Jesus died on the Cross for our sins He had victory over hell, death and the grave. Those who do not know Christ as their personal Savior, and have not accepted Him in their lives are the ones who are in a place of death. Satan is the author of death and fear and the curse. I know one day soon, Jesus will return and we will join Him in the air if we have not gone home before, and I will be reunited with my loved ones. I will meet my baby brother, Louis again, better than this world ever authored for him.
Heavenly Father,
You sent Your Son to die for me so that I may have life and have it more abundantly. Thank You for Your generous Gift of Your Son. I give You all the praise and glory that I am part of the family of God.
In Jesus' Name.
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