My little brother, Mike

My younger brother, Mike, was a happy child He loved to run and play, sing the alphabet, and talk. He had a great sense of humor and could make us laugh.

When Mike was an infant, it became apparent to my parents that he was severely developmentally disabled. My mom would recount how the pediatrician reacted when Mom voiced her concerns that her baby, Mike, was not passing the normal milestones. She was told he was ‘within normal limits.’ That infuriated her. Even thirty years later, describing this would raise her hackles. As a skilled mother of four children, and a well-trained registered nurse, she was well qualified and competent to assess her baby’s lack of progress. Unfortunately, she was right. At his best, Mike gained the intellectual capability of an average three- or four-year-old.

His gait was uneven from cerebral palsy, but that didn’t slow him down: he was full of energy and vitality. He has epilepsy and when he was thirteen, he went into a state of constant, uncontrollable seizure. He survived but was never the same. He eventually had to be in a wheelchair all the time to prevent a fall during a seizure. Even now, with seizure medication, he often has a small seizure while I am visiting him. He hasn’t spoken for many years. Over the years since then his health has declined.

In the past year, he has lost a lot of weight and had several illnesses. He can no longer sit up and must either be in bed or in a reclining wheelchair. He needs to be spoon-fed. He lives in a nursing home, near one of my older brothers, Carl.

Mike has been especially lethargic for a few weeks. Today a palliative-care doctor confirmed what we all have known on some level: Mike is dying.

Mike has blessed many people over his 59 years. As I love him, he continues to give me the gift of a deeper ability to love and have compassion.

Being an older sibling can be a character-building experience, from the jolt of being displaced as the baby of the family to the  (hopefully) eventual overcoming of the attendant envy. Growing up with a little brother who never was older than three or four gave me many opportunities to give care and gain responsibility.

When Mike was about two years old, Mom and Dad decided to try a doctor in Boston who was specializing in developmental disabilities. I wasn’t part of that decision, but I do remember the result: Mike got to fly ON AN AIRPLANE to BOSTON with Mom. As a four-year-old, I had never been to Boston.

Now it makes me smile. Much like the older brother in the Prodigal Son, I envied my younger brother. As an adult, I understand that Mike has never had what I have: a healthy brain and body.

Mike is truly without guile. As a child, he could be naughty, never mean. He was childlike in all the best senses.

Of course, that meant he needed the tending of a three- or four-year-old. He could eventually dress and feed himself, and walk down the sidewalk, but he had to be watched to make sure he didn’t run out into the street.

I believe that we all lived as spirits before our birth. As newborns we are incapable of doing wrong. We develop a conscience and with it both the ability to do evil and the desire to do good. Gradually an average child is able to recognize right and wrong and act with some responsibility.

Mike has never attained that level. When I was a child, my mom taught me that Mike is assured of going to heaven, because he doesn’t have the capacity to do evil. The question of this mortal existence is whether I’ll make the choices necessary to live in heaven with him.

Mike has been my inspiration. I believe he will be whole, in body and mind, after his mortal life ends. I want very much to be with him in that glorious state.