I Never Wanted To Be My Brother’s Keeper

For Many Years I Constantly Struggled Learning How To Live My Own Life

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Photo by Jude Beck on Unsplash

Thinking back on all those years, I never wanted to be my brother’s keeper, but somehow things turned out that way.

Even when he could.

The entire family just stopped asking Joel to help.

The word that would quickly circulate around each of the many schools my brother and I attended was that none of the machismo punks cared to damage their reps by busting on a cripple.

A word both my brother and I learned to hate and for two entirely different reasons.

Professional College Goer. Sweet.

It would be another five years before my brother and I hooked up again. What brought us together was money.

Interestingly, what split us up again was money.

Just another way of life taking an ironic crap on you right?

A year later, I got paid back, but It wasn’t with money.

We didn’t speak to one another for the longest time. Until my grandfather passed away, and three years later my grandmother died.

It took everything I could do to keep from gagging because of the reek of his body odor. It seemed as if he’d not changed clothes or taken a bath in months.

Then we forced him to take a shower and for the next four hours we set about washing all of his clothing.

My wife and I stumbled into bed at about three in the morning.

Two hours later the alarm went off.

When my wife and I returned home from work that evening, Joel was gone.

My brother and I never spoke again, and I never even knew when he died.

Thanks for reading

Written by

A published author enjoying married Texas bliss. Dog person living with cats. A writer of Henry James' stories. Featured In MuckRack. Top Writer In Fiction.

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