The Last Days
“…It felt like we were back to the days of being close, and I was grateful for that. When we made eye contact, I felt like I could see right through him.”
“…Sometimes a single tear would trace down the side of his cheek — a silent message, a quiet acknowledgment, a way of saying what we never said out loud. We didn’t grow up saying ‘I love you,’ but we showed it. And in that tear, I knew he heard me. I knew he was grateful. I knew he loved me.”
“…That was the last time he made eye contact with me.”
“…In those moments, all I could do was hold his hand, squeeze it as tight as I could, and whisper in his ear: Don’t worry about a thing, little brother. I’m here.”
“…The last thing I gave my brother was my presence, my promise, and my hand in his — and in that final tear, he gave me his goodbye.”
Excerpt from my memoir: The Hand I Refused To Play, Part V, Chapter 2: “The Last Days”
