My brother's keeper

One of the things my uncle said to me was that he'd talked to my sister Sally and that she'd told him my brother Curtis was in Louisiana. His mother-in-law is not doing well, said to be near death, so he and his wife and a couple of their kids were there. Sally said Curtis is extremely fat and despite his heart attack, despite his diabetes, he sat there munching a candy bar.

Growing up, Curtis was only four days younger than our cousin Walter (whom we called Junior). Junior lives in Houston. He's been very, very sick with liver failure for some time and is hoping to be put on an organ transplant list. He's a pretty amazing guy. He's the one who called to tell me when our uncle (Bobo) was dying of pancreatic cancer. He's the one who let me know when our cousin Larry died. I don't know anyone who wants to live more than Junior does. I don't know why Curtis is so much in denial about his own health, why he also doesn't want to live. He's had a heart attack that nearly killed him. They put three stents into his arteries. He smokes (at least, he did), and he never saw a sweet or a hunk of fried meat with gravy that he didn't want to eat.

I know people may say the same thing about me. Why don't I take better care of my health? I should exercise. I should eat more vegetables, less meat and bread. Whenever anyone tries to tell me anything that would benefit my health, I just get pissed off and want them to go mind their own business. So I know there's no point in my trying to get Curtis to live a healthier life. He's even more stubborn than I am, and believe me, that's stubborn. If there were a contest, I might come in second, but he'd win first place. So I'm going to say in my blog what I wish I could say to my brother.

Curtis, I love you. In our childhood, you were my best playpal. We ran races and built forts and had sweetgum-ball wars and tried to outdo each other in just about everything. Even though I was four years older, you could always outrun me and outjump me and finally, even out-eat me. (Remember the Halloween when we ate two bags of frozen Snickers?) You're stubborn and grumpy and far too politically conservative, but you still have a wicked sense of humor, and even if you remember things wrong (and you know you do, even if you'd argue about it), I still miss you. We sat side-by-side at Mama's grave at her funeral, and you were shaking and said you were cold, but rather than admit that you were overcome with grief, you just said you were glad I was fat so I could keep some of the December wind off you.

I know we will never be close again. But I don't want the next time I see you to be when I'm saying last good-byes at your coffin. We've both got to take better care of ourselves, and that's all there is to it. I'll try if you'll try. We can't help being married to genetically skinny people, but we can help what we do to ourselves.

So here's to health, my not-so-little brother. We are each other's keepers since we are each other's siblings. The older I get, the more important that becomes. Dr. S. [AKA Big Sister]