We received a call from a hospital in Jacksonville that our brother was in neuro intensive care after a fall. He was living on Amelia Island and Jacksonville was the closest hospital for this type of injury. We all got there as fast as possible. Melinda and Kara flew in first and met David who had already driven in from Orlando. I drove from Nashville to Greenville and flew out on the red eye the next morning. Liane, who couldn’t get there in person, joined us by phone for it all. It was clear the moment I saw him that things were very bad. He had a head injury from his fall and was in a coma, but also other severe medical issues too numerous to name.

We had his medical power of attorney, which made it clear he did not want to be hooked up to machines to keep him alive. We met with his doctors. We had discussions about each of the bodily systems affected and possible outcomes. It was clear he would not fully recover from his injuries. There was little to no brain activity. We asked for a consult with palliative care. We made the hard decision as a family.  Melinda, our family medical voice, signed the papers.

All of us took time to say our goodbyes individually, in person or by phone. We came back together and circled his bed. Wild Horses played as we stood and we could feel peace filling the room. We stood around the bed holding hands while the chaplain who prayed a powerful prayer for Michael’s release and a blessing for us. The peace rose to fill our hearts. It was beautiful. When life support was removed, he was gone in minutes. It was peaceful. He never regained consciousness. He didn’t struggle at all. He was just gone and only his shell remained. Déjà vu. Another hospital room, another hard decision made, another goodbye said, another river of tears cried.

If you are close to any of his family members you already know of my brother’s lifelong struggle with alcoholism. We are not going to give that disease any more power over our family by discussing its affects, because it is no longer an issue. Michael is finally free from its clutches. He is clear headed. He is with Mom and Dad who are also clear headed. They are all free to have the relationships they always wanted with one another. That is our reason for rejoicing.

Here, on this blog, we are going to remember the brother we had who was a smart, capable, generous, family man. He wanted the best for us all. At some point I may have some guest blogs from others who want to share their memories of him. But first I have a couple of specific memories that I want to share.

When I was a kid I didn’t like math. (Still don’t!) I really struggled. My guess is that I had/have a math learning disability, but back then they didn’t test for that sort of thing. I tried to learn my times tables without success. Mom would start, then pass me off to Dad. Then he would pass me off to Michael, who was only three years older than me, but a math whiz. I remember watching his head to see if something magic was being poured into it. He could figure out the problems without paper and pencil. He could add, subtract, multiply, and divide with no trouble at all. In his head! He knew when to switch to what operation. He understood the steps in word problems and what they were asking me to do.

I think he dreaded when they asked him to help, but he was patient and seemed to be able to get the ideas across better than they could. So, he was like my built-in math tutor. I always looked up to my big brother because as far as I was concerned he was a brilliant math magician.

Another memory I have of him is when Bill had his accident in 1988. Michael and Nancy had just refinished their basement and he insisted that I come stay there. He wanted me to be cared for while Bill was in the hospital. I took them up on the offer. That room in their basement was my sanctuary at the end of those long days of hospital sitting. I would go in that quiet room and cry myself to sleep many nights. I prayed. I begged God for relief. It was a safe place. I will never forget that generosity. This is the brother I choose to remember because this is the real person. This is the true heart of the man.

Complicated relationships are present in every family for one reason or another. None of us gets a perfect family. Trying to love one another despite our weaknesses is the real challenge. How to navigate stormy waters will always require patience, understanding, boundaries, communication, and likely therapy. Haha. But our family tried to stand beside Michael with love as best we could. He knew we loved him. We know he loved us, too. Even as difficult as things were, we always had love. Today, that love for one another is what we celebrate along with his freedom! We rejoice in both!

I have had several people ask what you can do for us at this time. My answer is to pray. We are all exhausted. I wake up needing a nap. It is more than physical tiredness, it is grief and emotional overload. I feel the need for a cocoon. Some of this is the trauma repeated. Deja vu. A bit of ptsd. Entering the room brought back all the emotions of being in Dad’s room. They even look alike. The machines were the same, respirator, pressers, IV poles…so much the same it was surreal. Like a nightmare all over again. Same decisions to make. Same steps to take. We all need rest as we go forward with navigating our to do list. His kids are reeling with the loss, but also finding all the good memories.

In addition to your prayers, we are asking that instead of food, or gift cards, that you donate in his memory to No Longer Bound Addiction Treatment Center. It is a faith-based addition recovery program in Cumming, GA. Michael did not go there, despite our urging him to do so, but they have a high success rate and offer scholarships to those who need them. One of the nurses came in after Michael had passed to offer her condolences said, “Just remember he is no longer bound.” She had no idea there was a place named that in GA. It confirmed to us this would be the best place for money to go. Donations make it possible for men to get free on this side of life and restore their families. It would be a meaningful gift for our family.

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