Saturday, I received a copy of my brother's death certificate from the authorities in Iowa. The same authorities say they can't locate a copy of his birth certificate, which is interesting. It's possible none was filed. On the other hand, it's possible he was born somewhere other than where I thought, and the search turned up nothing because of my error in locating his place of birth. Of course the authorities in Iowa could also just be Iowa Stubborn. (Boy-o-boy, do I know the ground truth of that trenchant observation of Meredith Wilson's about Iowans and the way they are.)
At any rate, despite the errors and typos on the cert -- it's shocking how badly some of it is mangled -- I now know what my brother died of -- pulmonary embolus it's called, a blood clot in the major artery of the lungs, stopping the flow of blood to the heart and brain, killing him within minutes if not sooner.
Same thing my sister died of.
I should say they were not blood relations with one another. My sister had a different father; my brother had a different mother. But I am blood relation to both. It was never particularly difficult to sort this out in my own mind, but trying to explain it to others -- especially in the straight laced '50s when I was growing up -- could be difficult. Multiple marriages were not common in those days, you see.
At any rate, I considered both my half-sister and my half-brother to be my sister and my brother without further qualification, though as it happens, I did not personally know my brother at all (never having met him), whereas I knew my sister very well indeed.
I thought I knew enough about my brother though. I'm finding I didn't, not really, and now with a fuller picture of his passing and after learning more about his relatively brief life, how much I didn't know and don't know is becoming much clearer.
For example, I didn't previously know that his mother died the day of his birth. I thought she lived for a while -- days or weeks -- after he was born (not sure where I got that idea, though), but his death certificate says he was born the same day I previously learned his mother had died. That must have been devastating to my father, and it helps explain why he never got over it. He was in mourning for my brother's mother for the rest of his life.
In some ways, I think he blamed my brother for her death.
Thirteen years later, I came along. I didn't realize that my birthday is within three days of my brother's --- and the day of his mother's death. My mother told me that she -- my mother -- experienced a long and difficult labor with me, and I wouldn't be surprised at all to find that her labor started on or about the date of my brother's birth and his mother's death. I can imagine the period surrounding my birth was gut-wrenching for my father. Would history repeat? Would it rhyme?
My brother was born severely challenged both physically and mentally. I didn't realized how severely he was challenged until late last year when I started corresponding with a cousin I previously had no knowledge of. She had letters that her mother had preserved, letters which mentioned my brother and his condition. It was not good.
For quite a while, and apparently at various periods, he could neither stand nor walk on his own; there were times when he apparently couldn't speak, other times when he would merely babble. He'd been described to me as an "idiot savant," which is to say that like some autistics, his mental development was stunted, but he had an astonishing memory for obscure statistics. From what I've read in those letters, though, I'm not sure that was true.
I had no idea at all that he was so severely physically challenged. No one told me. No one even hinted that he couldn't stand or walk on his own as late as the age of nine or ten. Both my mother and sister told me of their meeting with him when he was thirteen or fourteen, and their recollection was that he was pretty normal except for his learning disability.
I never met him. I recall being taken by my father one day to the house where he was living with friends of the family. The nice lady who answered the door said he was sleeping and she didn't want to wake him. When she found out who I was and why we were there, she suggested it might not be wise for him to see me as it could upset him greatly.
So. We never went back.
I knew that he lived with that family until they could no longer take care of him -- they were older than my father, after all -- but what happened to him after that I never really knew.
When my father died, I discussed my brother's whereabouts with his probate attorneys, but all I recalled was that he was in a "facility." He was being well cared for. I had nothing to worry about. I didn't know or rather recollect the name of the facility or where it was -- except that it was in Iowa somewhere -- and I assumed that it was a state hospital.
I've since learned I was wrong about that. So far as I know, he was never placed in a state hospital, and that is something of a relief, because I'd been told he was terrified of going to a state hospital. Apparently he had been taken to one as a potential patient-resident, and it did not go well. So he was not admitted.
Instead, it appears that after he left the care of these family friends, he was placed in a small nursing home (which no longer exists) a few miles out of town. I don't know how long he was there or what his condition was while he was there. But in 1968 when my (our) father was ill with the cancer that would kill him, my brother was transferred from the nursing home out of town to a residential care facility run by the Sisters of St. Francis in town. He was there until early October, 1972, when his condition apparently deteriorated significantly and he was transferred to the University Hospital in Iowa City where he died on the 27th of October -- of a pulmonary embolism.
As far as I know, he didn't have surgery prior to his death -- which my sister did, and a blood clot following surgery was what caused her death. Given what I have learned about his physical challenges, I suspect my brother was transferred to the hospital in Iowa City when his physical problems became too difficult for the sisters to handle. He may have had seizures. I suspect he became paralyzed. The ultimate result was the blood clot that killed him.
I sensed he died in 1972, but I have no recollection of being told of his passing. Perhaps I was contacted by someone... but I have no memory of whom it might have been, or even if it ever happened. Finding out that he did die in 1972 and where and how is still surprising.
And I do mourn this one. The loss of my brother is hitting home to me all these years later. I wish there was something I could have done, but what could I have done? I don't know, and that's part of the loss I feel.
So, now I know more...
Showing posts with label brother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brother. Show all posts
Monday, February 15, 2016
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
OT: On Finding Out About A Brother
This is another story in the saga I have come to refer to as "who are these people?"
As I've mentioned before, late last year I was contacted by a stranger who turned out to be my cousin, the daughter of one of my father's sisters. She'd been born and raised in San Mateo, and currently lives in a little Sierra foothill community east of Lodi. This is close to where I lived for many years in California. We knew nothing about one another, neither hint nor clue. This was largely due to the fact that in my father's family (my mother's too, but that's another story) there were and are certain things one does not mention. Turnts out, I had other cousins living close by in California as well. But I knew nothing of them nor they of me. No one ever said.
I did know, however, of the existence of a half brother, the son of my father and his second wife (who I had always assumed was his first wife, but I found out last year that he'd been married previously). My half-brother's mother died tragically shortly after his birth, and my father was in mourning for her the rest of his life. His devotion to her memory was one of the reasons for my parents' divorce. (My mother was my father's third -- and as far as I know, final -- wife.)
I knew my brother was mentally challenged. The phrase I heard used was "idiot savant." These days his condition would be referred to as "severe autism" or something along that line.
After his mother died, he was taken in and cared for by my father's older brother and his wife. I knew that as well. What I didn't know was how badly my brother was disabled. My new-found cousin shared some family letters with me. My brother is mentioned in several of them. When he was nine or ten years old, it was mentioned that he could briefly stand on his own if he was supported by a chair. He could not, however, walk. He was getting better, and it was thought he would be able to walk... soon. There was mention of him at an earlier age, at five or six. He could not stand, he could not walk, and at least some of the time, he could not talk. At other times, he was apparently very talkative and active but unable to perform the simplest movements or tasks. It sounds from the descriptions that he was paraplegic, at least at times, but I previously knew none of that.
I have no recollection of ever seeing him. My sister and mother, however, did see him during their brief time in Iowa when my parents were married and I was conceived and born. They described him to me as a fairly typical boy (he would have been twelve or thirteen at the time) who had a learning disability. They never mentioned or suggested a physical disability.
I recall my father taking me to see him at the home of a family friend who had taken over his care after he could no longer be cared for within the family (another long story for another time.) I remember going to the door of a neat little house in town and a woman in an apron answering. She said that my brother was sleeping and she didn't want to wake him. She suggested, too, that I might be very disturbing to him in any case, and that it might be better for his sake and mine if we didn't meet.
My father took her advice, and we never went back.
When my father died in 1969, there were questions about what to do with my brother. I didn't know where he was at that time. All I was told was that the family that had been taking care of him no longer were doing so, and he was in a "facility." Whether I was told or merely assumed it was a state facility, I don't recall. My memories of what was going on at that time are pretty chaotic as were the times themselves. I was probably told the name of the facility, because "Mount Something or Other" stuck in my mind, but I had no clear idea what or where this place was. I was assured he was being taken care of, however. When our father's estate was finally settled, the attorneys got a third (actually it was more, but that's another story, too), I got a third, and my brother got a third. That was that.
I didn't try to track down my brother or find out about his care and well-being. I was satisfied with the assurances I received that he was well cared for. I didn't imagine he was happy, however, because one of the things I'd been told about him was that he was terrified of going to a state hospital.
Some time later, I sensed that he had passed away, but I don't recall being told he had died. I just somehow "knew" it. I pegged his death in 1972, though I had no certain knowledge of it.
Once I was convinced my brother had passed away, he became part of the misty past, a member of that shadowy family I never knew.
When my new-found cousin and I were sharing documents, letters, and memories, I dug out some of the papers I'd saved from my father's house or that had been sent to me by the attorneys for his estate. One was a court filing regarding my father's estate and claims against it by creditors. I barely remembered reading it long ago. But I found to my surprise that the facility where my brother was living when our father died was named: "Mt Alverno," run by the Sisters of St. Francis. Oh. My vague memory of "Mount Something or Other" was based on that, no? It must be, but as I say, I have hardly any memory of reading this document before. I didn't even remember that I had it.
Turned out the facility -- or rather a successor using the name -- was still in operation, and I contacted them last month to see if there were still any records of my brother's stay and ask if anyone could tell me what happened to him.
I was informed that the current operators of the facility didn't keep those records, but the Sisters did, and their convent was next door. My query would be passed on to them. When I had heard nothing after several weeks, I contacted the Sisters through their website form, but once again, I heard nothing back. After a suitable interval, I found the direct email address for the Sisters convent and I tried again. I heard back almost immediately.
They had not received my earlier communications they said. They would look into the records they had, but they weren't sure that there was anything specific about former residents or patients; most of what they still had records of were financial matters.
An hour or so later, I got an email:
I thanked her profusely, and then I got this email back:
My time, no doubt, is not that far in the future, is it?
Somehow I never thought of it like that before. I've long been a fan of Franciscans, though. So.
There we have it. Now we know...
As I've mentioned before, late last year I was contacted by a stranger who turned out to be my cousin, the daughter of one of my father's sisters. She'd been born and raised in San Mateo, and currently lives in a little Sierra foothill community east of Lodi. This is close to where I lived for many years in California. We knew nothing about one another, neither hint nor clue. This was largely due to the fact that in my father's family (my mother's too, but that's another story) there were and are certain things one does not mention. Turnts out, I had other cousins living close by in California as well. But I knew nothing of them nor they of me. No one ever said.
I did know, however, of the existence of a half brother, the son of my father and his second wife (who I had always assumed was his first wife, but I found out last year that he'd been married previously). My half-brother's mother died tragically shortly after his birth, and my father was in mourning for her the rest of his life. His devotion to her memory was one of the reasons for my parents' divorce. (My mother was my father's third -- and as far as I know, final -- wife.)
I knew my brother was mentally challenged. The phrase I heard used was "idiot savant." These days his condition would be referred to as "severe autism" or something along that line.
After his mother died, he was taken in and cared for by my father's older brother and his wife. I knew that as well. What I didn't know was how badly my brother was disabled. My new-found cousin shared some family letters with me. My brother is mentioned in several of them. When he was nine or ten years old, it was mentioned that he could briefly stand on his own if he was supported by a chair. He could not, however, walk. He was getting better, and it was thought he would be able to walk... soon. There was mention of him at an earlier age, at five or six. He could not stand, he could not walk, and at least some of the time, he could not talk. At other times, he was apparently very talkative and active but unable to perform the simplest movements or tasks. It sounds from the descriptions that he was paraplegic, at least at times, but I previously knew none of that.
I have no recollection of ever seeing him. My sister and mother, however, did see him during their brief time in Iowa when my parents were married and I was conceived and born. They described him to me as a fairly typical boy (he would have been twelve or thirteen at the time) who had a learning disability. They never mentioned or suggested a physical disability.
I recall my father taking me to see him at the home of a family friend who had taken over his care after he could no longer be cared for within the family (another long story for another time.) I remember going to the door of a neat little house in town and a woman in an apron answering. She said that my brother was sleeping and she didn't want to wake him. She suggested, too, that I might be very disturbing to him in any case, and that it might be better for his sake and mine if we didn't meet.
My father took her advice, and we never went back.
When my father died in 1969, there were questions about what to do with my brother. I didn't know where he was at that time. All I was told was that the family that had been taking care of him no longer were doing so, and he was in a "facility." Whether I was told or merely assumed it was a state facility, I don't recall. My memories of what was going on at that time are pretty chaotic as were the times themselves. I was probably told the name of the facility, because "Mount Something or Other" stuck in my mind, but I had no clear idea what or where this place was. I was assured he was being taken care of, however. When our father's estate was finally settled, the attorneys got a third (actually it was more, but that's another story, too), I got a third, and my brother got a third. That was that.
I didn't try to track down my brother or find out about his care and well-being. I was satisfied with the assurances I received that he was well cared for. I didn't imagine he was happy, however, because one of the things I'd been told about him was that he was terrified of going to a state hospital.
Some time later, I sensed that he had passed away, but I don't recall being told he had died. I just somehow "knew" it. I pegged his death in 1972, though I had no certain knowledge of it.
Once I was convinced my brother had passed away, he became part of the misty past, a member of that shadowy family I never knew.
When my new-found cousin and I were sharing documents, letters, and memories, I dug out some of the papers I'd saved from my father's house or that had been sent to me by the attorneys for his estate. One was a court filing regarding my father's estate and claims against it by creditors. I barely remembered reading it long ago. But I found to my surprise that the facility where my brother was living when our father died was named: "Mt Alverno," run by the Sisters of St. Francis. Oh. My vague memory of "Mount Something or Other" was based on that, no? It must be, but as I say, I have hardly any memory of reading this document before. I didn't even remember that I had it.
Turned out the facility -- or rather a successor using the name -- was still in operation, and I contacted them last month to see if there were still any records of my brother's stay and ask if anyone could tell me what happened to him.
I was informed that the current operators of the facility didn't keep those records, but the Sisters did, and their convent was next door. My query would be passed on to them. When I had heard nothing after several weeks, I contacted the Sisters through their website form, but once again, I heard nothing back. After a suitable interval, I found the direct email address for the Sisters convent and I tried again. I heard back almost immediately.
They had not received my earlier communications they said. They would look into the records they had, but they weren't sure that there was anything specific about former residents or patients; most of what they still had records of were financial matters.
An hour or so later, I got an email:
Dear [Ché Pasa]
I was able to get some more information regarding your brother.... [He] was admitted to Mt. Alverno on May 14, 1968, from Calamus Nursing Home in Calamus, Iowa. The record indicates that he was a resident of Mount Alverno until his death at Iowa City Hospital (I assume that was The University of Iowa Hospital) on October 27, 1972.
Peace,
Oh. My.Sister Marilyn
I thanked her profusely, and then I got this email back:
Dear Mr. Ché,
I’m happy that we were able to assure you that your brother was well cared for until the end of his life and to give you a sense of closure in his regard. He will be waiting for you when it is your time to join him.
Yes. Well.Blessings of peace,Sr. Marilyn
My time, no doubt, is not that far in the future, is it?
Somehow I never thought of it like that before. I've long been a fan of Franciscans, though. So.
There we have it. Now we know...
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