63 years ago, on July 26, I held my little brother, Paul, for the first time. I sat in the big green chair in our tiny living room and Mama put him in my arms. I was four and so very proud! Paul had been born three days earlier on the 23rd of July, 1956; 63 years ago today. I miss him. On the 23rd of June this year, Paul left us after a ten month battle with Melanoma. And when I say battle, that’s exactly what it was. Paul never did anything by halves. He fought tooth and nail to stay with us and, in the end, the cancer was stronger.
My memories of Paul assail me these days. He had a full life and I was only a small part of it, but those parts are dear to me. I remember him sitting in his high chair watching Eric (my brother just two years my junior) play on the floor. I remember him escaping out the back door to play with us outside in the yard and on one occasion causing my mother heart failure when she found him tasting the slug. Paul’s was one of the first diapers I “changed” while my mother did all the actual changing.
As we grew older, Paul became a friend. He, Eric, and my dad would play “Teri, please pass” at the supper table. They would have me passing food until I cried “Uncle” siting my cold food as a result of their fun. And, it was all in fun. The laughter outweighed any animus. At 17, Paul left highschool after his junior year and went with Eric and me to college in Ontario where Eric and I finished up and Paul began in the freshman class. We all lived together in the dorm and some days it felt like it was the Hanson’s against the world. After returning to Washington, I had the privilege of being one of Paul’s first massage clients. He said he needed the practice but, in reality, I was the one reaping the rewards!
Paul was a perfectionist. When I married my first husband, we lived on 20 acres in Tonasket, Washington. We had cold running water, no plumbing, and no electricity. Our phone was a CB radio. Paul built us the most beautiful outhouse I’ve ever seen. He even included cedar shakes! My outhouse was the talk of the neighborhood!
After my divorce, again in Western Washington, I went to work for Stanford Elementary School in Kirkland where Paul was a teacher. What a thrill it was to watch him with those behaviorally challenged kids. He could be stern, but always with a warmth that signalled his ultimate respect for their personhood. It was an eye opener for the older sister who’d witnessed his own traumatic childhood. I couldn’t have been prouder to be his sister.
As Paul built his family in Washington, and I did my four years in the Navy followed by building my own family in Florida, we spent less and less time together. There were phone calls and time together whenever I went home. He visited me whenever his travels brought him close to wherever I was living, Our lives, however, had taken different paths. Mine was 3,000 miles away from my family of origin being a stay at home mom and his was working for my dad in our home state. We had less to talk about.
Six years ago, he again staggered me with his respect of all persons and his warm compassion. While visiting him in Oregon, he spent a great deal of time with my young, autistic grandson, Jace. That week with Paul changed Jace’s feeling about who he was. Paul was able to help him feel like an important, contributing member of society. He spoke to him, person to person, instead of adult to child. He asked his opinions as well as siting his own and he spent time with him. Possibly the most important gift one can give to another is time and Paul’s fishing expedition with Jace was a gift without measure for Jace.
A year or so ago, Paul called me with his diagnosis. It was an emotional, tear filled conversation and I wanted to do something! I begged him to let me come out and help care for him. He told me, “No”. He said that, after a while, people would get tired and then is when he would need me and then is when I could come. He asked for remote reiki. I was careful to follow what Paul asked. This last year was his journey and he had the right to travel it his way. I spent time with him in the energy world each night before I went to sleep and each morning before I began my day. My reward for that was to spend the last 5 days of his life with him which I will always treasure as one of the greatest gifts of this lifetime. My brother was a fighter and he fought for his life. It was such a privilege to be a part of that.
Today is Paul’s birthday. For all of our adult years, today I would have an hour with him on the phone. I would tease him about growing older and he would mention my own advanced years. We would catch up on family and talk a little philosophy. Paul was a student of this life on all of its levels and we had that in common. Today, the connection feels broken. Today, there is an hour in my day that cannot be filled. Today, I celebrate his birth and all he meant to me without being about to tell him in a concrete, worldly way. Today, I celebrate the enormous impact he had on my life and faith tells me he knows.
Teri's Healing Tides 