Life and Death
Today I remember my brother who died in 2002 at the age of forty-two. He had been ill for some time so one would assume his death did not come as a shock, but it did. We had grown accustomed to his illness; he had a brain stem tumour. My sister-in-law nursed him at home and his estimated life expectancy had been a few months, yet he just kept going. He was bedridden but could recognise us and every now and then would surprise us all with bursts of conversation before silence resumed. Every now and then we were treated to glimpses of his wit and charm. I remember one particularly poignant conversation I had with him. He told me he had been out in the fields with Joe (his father-in-law who had passed away many years previously) and a few of his other mates. A quizzical look came across his face as he said to me, "But, Cee, Joe wouldn't open the gate, why wouldn't he open the gate, why wouldn't he let me go with him? I wanted to go with him." I imagined a sun kissed
