The story of the apples and the bees.

It feels like a long time since I’ve written a candid blog post about the life and times of Little Miss Fuzzy Lizzard. So here is a snippet of my life.

There are things I have mentioned but haven’t really discussed on my blog site. Some things that are like knives to my heart when I relive them. One is the death of my brother, Bryan. The only reason that I mention it now is because, out of nowhere, like usual, emptiness descends and I am a puddle of tears missing him. Due to watching television or a movie where a character loses his/her brother/sister/father (yeah, just about any family member) and my world just fades to sadness. Which is exactly what just happened. It might also be the fact that his birthday is coming up soon.

My brother was my best friend. He and I were 12 years apart in age. Which meant that he had a lot to teach me. He was my hero. He taught me to climb the apple trees in our backyard when I was barely old enough to walk. He taught me to love music. I mean really love music. He made my world bigger than the world most toddlers experience. I’m sure I was no more than an annoying tag along to a teenager. But he never made me feel like a burden on his young life.

Most of the mischief I found myself in was due to his influence. I always stole his records and played them on my little red record player. Scratching the hell out of them. He showed me the glory of bands like Pink Floyd, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Queen, Yes, The Band, and even the Alan Parsons Project. I learned what patchouli incense was in his bedroom, which I had to go through to get to mine. Never making the connection to what scent it was masking. Once I stole his naked women rubics cube, almost getting expelled from the third grade.

He was my life. Then I grew up. He moved out, once to Florida. And we still remained close. I wrote him letters. He kept those letters and a baby picture of me in his wallet until the day he died. There was a special bond between us, we needed each other. Like balancing forces keeping us from spiraling into chaos.  

When I ran away from home as a teenager he was destroyed. He told me later how much he cried thinking about the horrible things that were going through his mind. Thinking of me being hurt made him crazy, sometimes angry. When I went on my first date with my ex-husband and stayed out all night, he hit the streets looking for me. And found me. When anything happened to me, he was there to rescue me. Or at least try.

When he was taken to the hospital for the first time after having a seizure while driving, it was me he called to come rescue him. And for the next nine years, as he suffered from the effects of brain tumors, he always called me to rescue him. We were more than siblings, we were the best of friends.

His disease began to strip away his ability to do things. His disease began to strip away his memory. His disease stripped away his life. I was there through it all, rescuing him. He admitted to me only once that he was scared. That he doubted that he would beat his disease.

He had the strength of a lion as the disease tore through his brain. Always believing that he could beat the odds with his will to survive, his faith. It was infectious. I almost believed it too.

Then his disease took its toll. His life. I was there, holding his hand at the moment of his death. The moment I felt my own life tremble and fall.

It has taken 11 years to find the strength to truly move on without him coming to my rescue. But the space in my heart where Bryan’s memory lives sometimes swells to overwhelming proportions. Releasing the tears, suffocating me. I still miss him more than anything.

But I will never again let my grief stall my life, like it once did. Last year I got a memorial tattoo for him, symbolizing him living forever in my hear. The apple blossoms on my shoulder make me long to climb the trees with him again. The bee on my shoulder represents his ability to live against impossible odds. Also, it is a bee for Bryan. I smile every time I see it. Like he is with me.

His words infuse me with his strength.

“It’ll be alright, Amy. Everything’s alright. Never give up.”