My brother, Curtis’s, journey on earth ended unexpectedly. When my mother passed away at the age of 86, he came to live with Hubby and our family, something for which my mother felt great guilt and never wanted to happen. His special needs were extensive, but we thought we knew what to do and tried to be there for him as my mother had. However, Hubby and I worked, and the children went to school, so Curtis had to go to a day program. Without the all abiding love from my mother, he started to withdraw away no matter how much attention we provided to him. Sure, we brought him Coke and made him sundaes, but we could not love him the way my mother had.

Around the time the children went back to school in September, Curtis’s physical condition started to deteriorate. Thinking he was severely depressed, he was placed on anti-depressants, (in addition to his other medication,) but he continued to decline. In October I took him to the hospital to find out what was wrong and what could be done about it. He looked so shrunken in the hospital bed, a mere ghost of himself. I blew up my favorite picture of him where he was vibrant and laughing, and hung it on the wall behind his bed, thinking the staff would pay more attention to him if they knew he normally wasn’t in a vegetative state. They seemed surprised that the lump in their hospital bed was a real person, but they continued to spoon fed him so that he wouldn’t make a mess feeding himself and put him in diapers so toileting wasn’t an issue. They put the television on across the room which he could neither see nor hear, and they would come up to him without announcing themselves and touch him and grab him to do their work without ever explaining anything to him. They did not see him as a person but as a creature that needed to be fed and changed.

Eventually, finding no physical ailment to cause such deterioration, Curtis was discharged to a nursing home 45 minutes away, NOT a very good nursing home. (Because he was on Medicaid, and had such special needs, we did not have much of a choice.) Every day after work I would drive to see him, bringing him the milk shakes which had at one time been a favorite. I noticed that the food trays would be sitting there, food untouched with large pieces of meat uncut. I explained to them that he had only a limited number of teeth and that he could neither cut the meat nor chew the food adequately, but the staff person to whom I talked was not English speaking and she obviously did not understand me, so a change was never ordered.

One day I went in and his hospital bed mattress was on the floor to prevent him from getting injured when he had seizures. Judging from the large bruises on his head and legs, it was apparent that he had had a vicious seizure and was injured by the bars on the bed. He barely looked up when I came in, and for the first time, did not touch the milkshake I had brought. It was near “the end”. I made arrangements to stay with him for the next several days, sleeping on the floor next to him, rubbing his back like he used to love so much when he was a child. Every now and then he would peer out at me through half open eyelids, seemingly content that I was there, but all conversation had ceased. Then, one night, right out of a sound sleep, he sat straight up in bed, his eyes widened. He laughed and pointed to the ceiling and called out “Mom! I see you!” Then he laid back down and was gone…

I was, of course, devastated at his death, but soon realized that he died exactly one year from when our mom died, at the same time of night as her death. It could not have been a coincidence. I believe he did see her that night, and she made good on her promise that I would not have to spend my life watching him. Instead, she called him to Heaven to be with her, and to prove to me that there was, indeed, a Heaven.