Someone I Admire

The person I most admire? That’s easy, although it definitely would not always have been my answer. My brother Jeffery was four years younger than me. When he was a baby, I couldn’t wait to get home from school to see him. I would build up towers of his blocks, watch him topple them with a grin, then pretend to be angry while he would giggle in that special baby way of showing pure joy.

As we grew older, of course there were differences. We spent a period of two or three years not getting along at all. He was the little brother and not cool to have around. I was the big sister and fun to torment. Once I moved out of the house, though, we rapidly began to appreciate each other once again. He became, without a doubt, the best friend I will ever have.

Why do I find my little brother admirable? It’s hard to explain, but I’ll give it a whirl. First of all, he was just Jeff. He had a personality that could not be forgotten. Once you got to know him, you were impacted for life. He was fun-loving, outgoing, had a great sense of humor, and often just plain obnoxious. He said what he thought, regardless of how other people might feel about it. He was always courageous, but get a few beers into him and he would become stupidly so. He was well known at parties for walking up to the biggest guy around and picking a fight with him.

The main reason for this false bravado came from the fact that Jeff never grew to be a very big man. He suffered his whole life from a thyroid disorder. The thyroid gland controls growth hormones, so Jeff never got very tall. His friends dwarfed him before he got through high school. I guess he figured since he’d never get any bigger than the average junior high student, he had to make a big impression.

Beneath that tough guy facade was a human being of extraordinary caring and compassion. Despite the health problems he always suffered from, people came to Jeff with their problems. They would come to him seeking advice and comfort, never thinking for a moment that they shouldn’t bother him with their troubles since he had enough of his own. He was a good listener by nature, and his innate goodness left you with a feeling that everything would work out in the end. In fact, just before he died five years ago, he was studying at Ferris State University to become a social worker or counselor.

When I talk about his innate goodness, I certainly don’t mean to imply that he was a saint. He was anything but that. He could tell a raunchy joke with the best of them. He was king of the trash talkers. He liked good parties and pretty girls as much as the next guy, and it’s no exaggeration to say that pretty girls and parties liked him. But his goodness shone through everything that might have been considered “bad” about him. Just being around him could make you feel better about life. Since his death many have said he was their guardian angel, saving them from making bad choices from time to time.

All of this is a description of my brother, and these are all things I found admirable about him. But the main reason he is the person I most admire is the way he faced his own death. First, let me say that losing him was the hardest thing I have ever experienced in my life. That night I wished only that I could die with him; I didn’t see a way I could go on with my life without him. In fact, even though it’s been over five years since he died, this is the first time I’ve been able to write about him. But in looking back, I am eternally grateful that I was there with him the night of his death. Even in that moment of personal loss, he was teaching the rest of us lessons about living.

I was there just before he lost consciousness. I was there when he was placed on the ventilator. I was there, and made the decision, when he was removed from the ventilator. And as painful as it all was, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. When I walked in the room, he demanded to know why in the world I had changed my hair color. It was a slight change, and no other person had even noticed it, but Jeff did. I suppose he had wanted to see us all for the last time to remember us just the way we were, so he was kind of ticked that I had changed something.

As his breathing became more difficult, he placed me in charge of his personal belongings, telling me what to give to whom. I told him we shouldn’t be having that conversation; he smiled patiently and went on. As he grew weaker, I fed him ice chips and rubbed his little bald head. I knew things weren’t looking good for him, but I wasn’t willing to give up until I heard him say it was time and he was ready. He looked at my mother and said, with tears in his eyes for the first time, “I’m dying.”

From that point on I knew we were together saying our good-byes. He was so strong and so brave...this time a true bravery, not the false kind he’d demonstrated at parties. He held on for so long, breathing so shallowly I didn’t see how he could continue. I knew finally what he was waiting for, and as hard as it was for me, I leaned in to whisper to him as we had done so many times through our childhood. This time I said the words he so badly needed to hear from me, the ones that would allow him to stop fighting a losing battle.

“I know you’re tired Jeffy, it’s all right. You can rest now. Go ahead and rest.”

It was only a few short minutes later when the doctors made the decision to place him on a respirator. A few hours after that, we were awakened to make a decision. He was deteriorating rapidly, and while the doctors could do some procedures to prolong his life, there was no hope that he would ever recover. Even if he continued to “live” he would remain connected to a machine to breathe for him. Knowing how my brother felt about quality of life, I didn’t need to think twice about the decision. “Take him off the respirator,” I said. “If he breathes on his own again, great. If he doesn’t, then it wasn’t meant to happen.”

Before they removed the respirator, we were allowed to say good-bye one more time. Again, I whispered in his ear: “I love you little brother. You go there and make a good place for us. We’ll be there before you know it.”

The nurse told me he never even drew a breath after the respirator was removed.