Once a month, my brother
toils through the after work Houston traffic to make the drive to San Antonio.
His little red car pulls into the front of our house a little before 9 PM, and
he lopes into the front door with a broad smile. He ignores Koi’s yapping as he
heads straight for the spare bedroom to deposit his bag. My mother, in
anticipation of a visit from Charles, usually fights to stay awake on the
nights of his arrival. They’ll exchange a few words, a hug and kiss, and then
she’ll ask one of us to take her to bed.
Mom musters extra energy
for Charles’s weekend visits. She’ll pick a favorite restaurant for an early
lunch and offer to pick up the tab for all of us! She’ll sit on the couch with
my brother, watching the movies or shows he prefers. She’ll haltingly chat
about her health and ask him about his life. A huge part of the time, though,
they sit in comfortable silence.
Happiness oozes from my
brother. He lives a simple life. He enjoys the little things that come his way
and never wastes time bemoaning life’s travails. He hates asking others for
help, yet he is the first one to offer assistance if he can.
For now, I treasure the weekend visits with my
brother. His presence means we get time. Today, after my mother treats everyone to
lunch, David and I will head out to trim hedges and clear out the front garden
bed, chores we could do individually during the weekends when my brother doesn’t
visit, but which we enjoy doing together when we can.
With Huntington’s
Disease, each of us have a 50% chance of inheriting the disease. My mother’s
late onset means that although we may be symptom free at this time, we could
begin expressing the early symptoms soon. I try to prepare myself for the fact
that all three of us could end up dealing with HD again, but I dread the
thought of Charles being affected. I guess because he’s my “little brother” I
long to protect him from this hardship. He’s single and doesn’t have a high
income. If HD impacts his life within the next few years, it will wreck the
balance of his world.
Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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