He was 52, strong, healthy, loving, my only brother, my only sibling. He went into the hospital for a "routine" (HAH!) procedure on his brain to try to block off his AVM. After the procedure, the AVM exploded in his head. He did not die, but we lost him then just the same. He had surgery to relieve the pressure but he remained comatose, but was not brain-dead. We were told that if we kept him alive with feeding tubes that he would have the cognitive ability of an infant. Can you imagine a life like that? He would be in a nursing home requiring care 24/7, for all functions. He would not know us, he would have no ability to understand language or to express himself. He would have no memories.
After 10 days of this, we decided together as a family that we needed to let him die in dignity. We removed life support, being told it would take several days for him to die. The next morning we got the call. He died alone.
I am now the only surviving child. My parents won't talk about him, and I NEEEEEEEED to talk about him. I need to remember him, to tells stories, to laugh and to cry. I never mention it to my friends, and they never ever ask me how I'm doing. I feel like a forgotten mourner, lost in the shuffle. My parents got hundreds of sympathy cards - I got 12.
He was my brother. I worshipped the ground on which he walked. I'll never know if letting him go was right or wrong. Some day when I see him again I'll know. Until then I wrestle with the guilt and the confusion.
Reading some of the other stories here made me cry, but not in a bad way. It makes me feel much less alone, that someone really does know what its like to lose a close brother, the agony and guilt of removing life support when he was not brain dead.
Some days I am ok, other days not. I keep waiting for "it" to get better and for me to "get over it" (whatever that means). I just want to talk to someone about him, to remember and not forget him.
Thank you for listening to me.
Tigerlily in Minnesota