The Glory Days

I remember every detail about the day Billy was born. The way the hospital smelled of sterility and fresh paint. The busy sounds of carts being pushed down the hall, nurses flipping through charts, excited families chattering amongst themselves; awaiting news, bells and buzzers and newly born crying babies. It was 3:07 on a Thursday afternoon in September when my brother made his appearance, tiny face all scrunched and angry red, letting out a fierce wail. I was ten years old. I remember how I noticed mom still looked glowingly beautiful, almost untouched by what I now know had been a difficult ordeal. Billy was small and looked so fragile even bundled up in his new soft, blue blanket that I had picked out. The one he never let go of, not even to wash, the same blanket he clutched onto now.

A tear trickled down my cheek and I felt myself squeeze his lifeless hand. I had vowed to be the best big brother the world had ever known. I remember how jealous I had been when they first told me the news of a new baby. As time went on though and I felt him come to life inside mom's stomach, I became more and more excited. I told everyone I saw I was going to be a big brother. I even had a tee shirt that proudly stated the fact! After Billy was born, he had to stay in the hospital for several months. He was so tiny and very sick. Mom said he just needed a little extra help form the doctors. Finally, right before Christmas, Billy got to come home! I was ecstatic. Finally, I could begin to carry out my 'big brother duties'. 

Billy seemed to stay ill with something or another. Mom didn't let him go around other kids much and he never went to the grocery store or the mall. This upset me, as I wanted to show him off, but mom said his immune system wasn't strong enough and we couldn't take the chance on him catching something even as simple as a cold. I didn't quite understand, but I definitely didn't argue. I did not want anything to happen to him. By this time Billy was going on two and seemed to be full of energy. Mom had her hands full for sure! He didn't like being cooped up in the house all the time and cried and threw temper tantrums when he couldn't go out. I tried my best to keep him occupied. My friends didn't get it at all and hounded me for ditching them to stay home with Billy. That didn't bother me though, I knew the sacrifice I was making was worth it. Friends come and go, but Billy was my only brother.

The handful of times mom gave in and let us play outside are some of my most cherished memories. I remember how he loved to lay in the soft grass and feel the warm summer sun beat down on his far too white skin and how he would lift his chin up when the breeze blew so the air caught him full faced and got tangled in his hair. He would tie a long piece of blue fabric around his neck and armed with a wooden spoon and one of mom's metal colanders, he would run around the yard, mop of curly blonde hair bouncing, and claim victory to his imaginary kingdom. Billy had a fabulous imagination and I fed it every chance I got. He reminded me what it was like to be a child without care or worry. 

Not long after Billy's third birthday, he began to get very sick again. There were frequent trips to the hospital and several overnight stays - even a few times for week or more. I refused to go to school and so mom worked out a deal with the teacher so that I could have my schoolwork in advance and I sat at bedside doing my studies. Even now, I glanced over at my stack of untouched books and homework. School was the last thing on my mind right now. The teacher would just have to understand. I forced myself to take a look at my baby brother, lying there helpless, tubes connecting him to life sustaining sustenance. I quickly looked away; this was not the way I wanted to remember him. I scooted my chair closer to the head of his overly large hospital bed and pulled his favorite book from my backpack - Fox in Sox, a Dr Sues classic - and began to read aloud. The doctors told me that although it didn't seem like it, Billy could still hear us. I wanted him to know I was there, had been there the whole time, and that he didn't have to be afraid. 

Billy took his final breath later that evening, just as a the sun set and faded bright orange into pink. He was three years, four months, eight days, and twenty seven minutes old. It was the absolute worst moment in my life. I was devastated that this little person who brought me so much laughter and occasionally some frustration was gone forever. Billy will always be my baby brother, my best friend. I have pictures of us all over my room and in my locker at school. I still go to visit him every Thursday afternoon and sometimes on Saturdays too. I tell him about my week and about mom and what new toys he's missing out on. Then, before I leave, I bring out Fox in Sox and read quietly to grey marble headstone.