Eternity- a memoir

This is a memoir (as you may have guessed from the title) about my time, my very short time, with my brother.

Eternity- a memoir

By Alex James Strickland

 

 

The concept of time is mysterious. We are prisoners of time; trapped in a ticking time bomb which may just explode at any moment. The sound of the ticking clock sets my teeth on edge as it is a constant reminder of the countdown…to everything. The value of the countdown, however, is never the same. I, myself, am a victim of time’s cruelty.

 

When I was ten, I was taught, in a manner of brutality, the meaning of life, love and death. The death of my brother, Dexter, was the moment I lost all my innocence. Before, I was simply ignorant to the world around me, absorbing only things that were of interest to me, but the death allowed me to put things into perspective. Looking back at it now, I cannot even begin to comprehend the love I felt for him… it’s unexplainable. It was a love formed naturally despite feeling neglected of any emotional contact with him. I watched silently as the nurses had more of a relationship with him than his own family. For over half of his life, I saw my brother as a machine. The only way I could feel his heart beat was to read it off the monitor; the only way I could feel his warmth was to read the thermometer. He didn’t even look human. The bond between us was non-existent.

But, when that unforgettable moment happened, the moment I touched his cheek, his warmth flooded through me creating some new deep, new-found reverence for love. Dexter gave meaning to the word ‘love’, it wasn’t just an empty word, it physically meant something. I have never felt that way about anyone since. I actually despise love, now- I consider it reserved for him.

Even now, when I cry, I can still feel his warmth in my tears. For that reason, I never wipe them away, but I merely let dissolve into my own cheeks. The tears will always serve as a memory of my first touch.

 

The second most unforgettable memory that I have of Dexter was our first and… only… cuddle. It had to be when his life was drawing to a close that we had our only intimate bonding moment together. Confined to an armchair in my grandma’s living room, the still, warm body of my brother was placed carefully into my eager arms. I remember gently brushing the thick black hairs on his head. I remember gently stroking his pale cheeks. And, I remember feeding him. I have a photo somewhere of me hosting the broadest smile I possessed in such a long time. He was pressed up against my chest, tucked cosily in a blue blanket, in the safety and comfort of my arms.

 

That was the only cuddle I shared with him. He lived for 2 months and 4 days. The most emotionally destructive 2 month and 4 days in my life. His life came to a close on November 8^th 2010.

 

I look back at the day my father appeared on my doorstep, looking ragged and tired, and I realise that, despite me thinking it was unexpected at the time, it really wasn’t unexpected. I guess that in some way, I was labouring under the delusion that he would be fine. I think that deep down, I was so excited about being a big brother again and having the liberty to watch his life unfold before us… alas, I only knew him briefly but he really did give meaning to love; I realised that the love I have for him will last for eternity: without meaning, love is just a word… an empty word.

His story on this earth, came to a close in the confines of his bed. I like to think that he slept and went peacefully to compensate for the trauma that his, oh, so short life greeted him with. It was not fair. I’ll value our cuddle more than anything but I’ll never pretend that I didn’t want more. Time betrayed me.

 

For his funeral, I wrote him a letter and placed it on the casket so it would be cremated with him but I made a copy and stored it safely away. I also did a speech, a very painful speech:

“I don’t believe that one so young can die so purposefully without there being another story for you, elsewhere. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you. I had plans for us, plans that I now think about in vain. I wanted to be the big brother that made you smile when I walked through the door. I envisioned you playing with your trainset and just looking up and… smiling- you would then get up and waddle over to give me a hug to which I would pretend you knocked me to the floor at impact. I imagined all this. I wanted nothing more than to help dad teach you how to ride a bike. We would have started you on stabilisers and then, when the time came, take them off and be by your side when the inevitable fall came. I wanted to see your giggly face as you soared higher than anyone on the swings. I hope that you are giggling, now that you are higher than anyone. I love you, Dexter Jon Strickland. Rest in Peace, little man.”

(copied from the original document)

 

And then my father broke down and couldn’t do his speech… he only got to the first line but that first line now means more to me than anything I’ve ever heard, “In the continuum of the cosmos there is, in reality, very little difference between the shortest life and the longest life”, and it dawned on me, some years later, that my father was right. Although it seems like a long time, the end really isn’t that far away… the countdown could end at any moment, but until that moment, his memory will be remembered for eternity. He will be remembered as the boy who fought and captured the heart of his family forever… for eternity.

 

Rest  in Peace.