My brother Lee died unexpectedly last month. Of all things, a scorching heat wave rolled through and took his life. I was on my annual vacation visiting our childhood home in Hawaii when I got the call. “Auntie Rachael, Lee is missing.” My heart stopped. Lee is lost somewhere with the entire Pacific Ocean between us. Thankfully, we all swiftly took action. “All hands will need to be on deck,” as I used to say, in preparation to take care of him when the matriarch of our family, my Mother, would leave this earth. I learned that from my Father while sailing inner island in Hawaii growing up. He was the Captain at sea. I felt compelled early on in life to follow his lead. Most likely due to an overwhelming sense of anxiety and fear of controlling my surroundings to feel safe. I had mentally tried to prepare for the day my Mother would pass my entire adult life, knowing that Lee would need to be cared for. I lived with so much fear and anxiety that our family could not rise to the occasion to meet his needs like my Mother had done for him his entire life. But this? I was not prepared for it in the slightest. Within an hour, we were able to get the news from the police. Lee was dead. My knees buckled, and I fell to the ground. Why Lord? My sweet Mother. Not another child to bury. It’s not fair. The tears would not stop flowing—my grief solely for my Mother, and still, to this day, my heart aches for her.
You see, my brother was unique. And anyone who had the pleasure of meeting him would understand what I mean by that. At 57 years of age, he had a child-like essence. He never spoke badly about anyone. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body and always came from a place of pure love and intention. He said very little and listened carefully, always from afar and never wanting center stage. And when he did speak, it was to ask for his simple pleasures in life to be met. His passion for music was everything. “Rachael, can you order me this Doors CD before you leave for Hawaii?” Of course, Lee. Even though I knew Mother would not allow yet another Doors CD. She lived daily with his incessant obsessive compulsion to collect his music. His only personality defect was that compulsion that my Mom managed dutifully. I feared I would not have been able to have handled it with so much grace. “Jim Morrison has been dead for many years, Lee; you already have all the CDs he released.” She never gave up hope that his brain would heal and the schizophrenia would subside in time for her to leave this world in peace, knowing he would be okay.
The Doors CD arrived while I was away in Hawaii. He was given two options. His remaining cigarettes for the day or the CD. He chose the CD and then secretly left the house with his birthday cash in his little wallet to buy a pack of cigs. One of his only simple pleasures in life that he looked forward to. My Mother would count out the six cigarettes allotted to him daily by the hour to ensure he wouldn’t smoke them all at once, knowing it wasn’t good for him and doing her best to cut them down. Another one of the many acts of her selflessness while caring for him when she could have easily put him in a hospital for someone else to do so. Monthly Doctor visits, joining a local non-profit that helped people who struggled with mental disabilities find jobs, then becoming a board member, fervently studying and learning about the disease and cutting-edge medicine while ensuring monthly blood tests to ensure his organs could handle them, organizing annual birthday parties for him so the family would gather to celebrate him. The list goes on and on. She championed him as his caregiver for 57 years. All done in an instant.
It’s been one month now since our lives changed that day. What I wouldn’t do to go back and tell my younger self what a gift it would have been to have been able to care for him, love him, and mother him when our Mom would no longer be with us. What a waste of energy to have feared it all these years. I find solace that my big brother made an adult decision all on his own that day to go on the adventure of a walk to the store. I imagine my Father watching him from the heavens calling him home.
“Rach, when you see the light, don’t step in the shadows.”
I won’t, Lee.
And all this time, you were our Teacher. Godspeed, sweet brother.
Rachael Kelley 