The Ties That Bind

“C’mon Shelly, this way!” he breathlessly shouted.

This was the third time tonight we had to cross the river, and I was not happy.  I was soaked to the bone, tired, and getting very pissed off.

“Damn it!” I thought. “Not through here again!”

This dog was going to run me to death before she treed that raccoon.  Gabriel’s old redbone bloodhound had a nose that could pick up a coon scent a mile away and she made us run every bit of it.  I could see Gabriel’s flashlight about fifty yards ahead of me, and I would intermittently catch a glimpse of his long lanky silhouette against the moonlight.  Well, at least I hoped it was him.  He was the only other person out here a good foot taller than me and carrying a gun.  My legs weren’t nearly as long as his, and he didn’t seem to want to offer me a break tonight, even though we’d been out here for hours.

Suddenly, I could hear Birdy’s distinct howling in the distance, and from the sound of it, she was directing us back to the same spot we had been an hour earlier.  It had to be the same coon, and it was running us in circles.  At last we made it to the tree, and Birdy was in high gear, howling with her face pointed in a straight line up the tree trunk.

Gabriel handed me the gun, “You aren’t going home empty-handed tonight Shelly.” 

His grin spread across his whole facing showing those pearly white teeth that I had always envied, even as a kid.  His blonde hair was matted to his head from sweat, and he was gasping for air.  He had that, I bet you won’t, look on his face, but I wasn’t going to be bullied or called a chicken.  This was my brother, and I loved him dearly.  Even after all of the trouble he’s ever gotten me into.  I was forever being tortured, teased, and goaded into doing those gross things that any respectable girly-girl wouldn’t and couldn’t possibly dream of doing; like coon hunting. 

By the time I was ten, I knew how to do things that most boys didn’t, well, city boys anyway.  Growing up in the country meant that most boys by the age of ten had already bagged their first deer, and if Gabriel had anything to say about it, I would join those ranks soon enough.  He loved me and protected me and often took all of the blame when we got caught doing something that we shouldn’t be doing; like starting the barn on fire when we were eight and ten years old or sneaking out to go to a party after we were older.  Most times he was the instigator and I the innocent bystander, who just happened to get caught with him.

“Shhh! I don’t want mom to hear us,” he whispered as we pushed my dad’s brand 1981 Ford pickup truck out of our long driveway.

At fourteen years old Gabriel didn’t even has his permit yet, but he had proudly informed me earlier that day that he would be taking driver’s training later in the summer.  In his mind, he was already a licensed driver, and the temptation of that truck sitting in the driveway taunting him was just too great for him to deny.

So, we pushed it backwards out of the long narrow drive, jumped in, and started it up.  Away we went down every dirt road and two-track that we could possibly find.  An hour into our most recent adventure, Gabriel jumped out of the truck and told me to get into the driver’s seat.  After all, who better to teach me to drive than someone who would be taking driver’s training in only a few weeks?  I was scared to death.

“Are you sure this is ok?” I asked him.

He just laughed and said, “Tell you what, you don’t kill us and I won’t tell, besides, who’s gonna catch us?”

It must have been one of those rhetorical questions because we always knew who would catch us; we just chose to ignore the answer.  We went up hills, though mud puddles, and across fields.  It never occurred to us as to how to explain how the sparkling bright green finish on that truck ended up with all of the dirt and mud and not to mention a few scratches. 

We made it home safe and sound, but as we cut the lights off and coasted into the driveway, our parents were there, waiting.  Now my mom may be short and rather petite, but if she said to do something, you did it, no questions asked.  She was the type of woman that actions often spoke louder than words and that particular night her actions were all over the house!  And my behind didn’t connect with another hard surface for a very long time.  Looking back, I’d do it all over again.  Not out of rebellion, but for the adventure with my brother.

We eventually grew up, married, and had families of our own, but there was never a week that went by that one of us didn’t pick up the phone just to talk.  He was my rock and my hero. 

“Shelly, do you have a few minutes? I need to talk to you,” my brother said from the other end of the phone.

“Sure Gabe, what’s up?” I cautiously asked him.

“Well, I had a doctor’s appointment today for some test results,” he said.

“Test results? You didn’t tell me you weren’t feeling well,” I said to him.  I could feel the anxiety in my voice.  I was scared.

“I didn’t want to worry you sis, especially if it turned out to be nothing,” his voice cracked.

“It is nothing, right Gabe? Right Gabe?” I cried.

“Not exactly, I have throat cancer,” he sobbed.

September 21, 1996, when my brother was thirty years old, he was diagnosed with throat cancer.

Surgery to remove a tumor, radiation, and chemotherapy treatments overtook my brother’s life.  Of course he lost his hair, but there were other things much worse and much harder to try to withstand.  Constant bouts of nausea, diarrhea, and stomach pain were the least of these also.  Because of the radiation he was severely burned not only on the outside of his throat but also on the inside.  Speaking became unbearably painful and non-existent at the end.

The evening before my brother passed away, I knew in my heart that Gabriel wouldn’t be with us much longer and I wanted, I needed, to spend some alone time with him.

I tucked my children into their own beds and headed for the hospital. I walked into Gabriel’s room, took off my jacket, and sat next to him on the bed and took his hands in my own.

“I love you Gabe,” I whispered in his ear as I kissed his cheek.

Gabriel had not opened his eyes in almost two weeks but the moment I spoke those words to him and he knew that I was there, I could see him struggle to wake up.  He held onto my hands as tightly as his ravaged body could manage and I could no longer deny what was happening.  My brother was dying and no amount of love that I could give him was going to change that.

I crawled into bed with Gabriel, put my arms around him, and held him. 
Somewhere in my mind I was trying to hold the Boogeyman away for him like he did for me so many times when we were kids. 

It’s been ten years since my brother passed away, but not a day goes by that I don’t miss him.  I watched a vibrant, strong, young man deteriorate before my eyes and become a shell of his former self.  Cancer is an evil and ugly thing, especially when it is our own loved ones we watch slowly fade away.  The day Gabriel passed away I felt almost a sense of relief that he would no longer suffer, but it tore me up inside and I wanted to die with him.  It’s still a burden on my heart but I know that someday I will see him again.

It’s funny how after all of these years I can still hear his voice in my head like it was yesterday.  “C’mon Shelly, I won’t tell if you won’t, besides who’s gonna catch us?” 

That was and still is my brother, Gabriel, and death cannot break the ties that bind the heart.