My Brother Jim

My Brother Jim

And the lessons he taught me, and still teaches me

 

 

The story is told that when Jim was three years old, when asked what he wanted for Christmas, he said, “A baby brother!”

In October of 1947, he got his wish. And I was that lucky person.

Jim took his job very serious. He was always at my side, teaching me, playing with me, helping me, and being a good friend as well as a big brother.

The movie theater was just down the street, and when there was a movie playing that Jim wanted to see with his friends, he would ask our mother. I would immediately go to her and ask, “Can I go too?” She would give Jim more money and say, “Take your brother.”

I’m sure there were times he would have liked to just go with his friends that were his age, but I never knew it back then. Because he would always hang back from his friends to walk with me to the theatre. He never expressed his disappointment, if ever there was any, to me.

I clearly remember the two of us going into the basement in the afternoon, and he would read books to me. When I grew more interested in reading, as I learned the alphabet in school, he helped me, and then, one day, it just suddenly clicked! I no longer saw letters on the page, I saw…words! I read a few of them aloud, and he helped me sound out some of the longer words, and before you knew it, I was reading aloud the entire page. Then he ran upstairs, and I heard him loudly proclaim: “Mom! Mom! I just taught Doug how to read!” I came upstairs and validated it to my mother.

With summer came vacation, and each year we would spend three weeks camping at Oscoda State Park in Michigan, or sometimes Interlochen. A few times we went to Manistee where my father was born. The long car rides were made less boring by Jim playing games with me in the back seat. It was at camp one year that Jim taught me how to swim.

As time went on, and we got older, he never stopped being my big brother, or my friend. My friends were his friends. A few times my girlfriends became his girlfriends, but we won’t talk about that!

Suddenly Everything Changed

As he approached his late 60s, Jim began to notice his hand shaking, and after several doctors and neurologist’s visits was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. At least that was his initial diagnosis. He was very upbeat about it making jokes about his plight that I’m afraid I can’t share with you because my blogs are rated G! As his disease progressed he began to have setbacks such as severe hallucinations. He even made fun of his hallucinations, until they became ugly and frightening. Thankfully, medication has stopped them.

Ultimately, though, his diagnosis was changed to probable dementia with Lewy bodies, or Lewy body dementia. This is a hideous disease that has many of the physical symptoms of Parkinson’s, and the mental symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease.

He spoke to me of his anger about all of this, but not very often. Once he told me: “Doug, I kept saying to myself, ‘Why me? Why me?’ The answer finally came: ‘Why not me?’”

We had our occasional brother’s reunion this summer, and he is now at a point where he no longer initiates conversation. He can answer questions and make some decisions like what he wants to eat at a restaurant, but most of our visit consisted of us—myself and my other two older brothers—talking, and Jim listening.

Little by little he is being taken away from us. Taken away from his wife, his kids, his friends and relatives, and his brothers. Little by little.

 

My brother Jim, now 75 years old is the one on the left. My oldest brother Herbert, 82 years old is on the right.

What it all means

I tell you this to tell you that we are all on that journey. We all want to believe that we will grow very old, maintain our health and our minds until the end, and eventually die a peaceful death.

Truth is, none of us knows, even when we become aware of our breathing, whether we will be blessed with one more breath. Eventually, we won’t. When, and how we leave our bodies we cannot know. We only know of its certainty.

There are many things Jim taught me while growing up, and now as I watch him leave me, he teaches me in silence. He teaches me things I would like to share with you:

1. Be grateful.

No matter what life throws at you, there are those that are worse off than you.

2. Let your loved ones know how you feel about them, and let them know often.

Once they are gone, it’s too late. When Jim was more aware, and still able to call me on the phone, I started saying “Love you,” at the end of each of our phone calls. I had never done that before his diagnosis. He always said it back, and I’m so grateful I did that while he was more cognizant.

3. Make a difference in the lives of others.

We each have gifts that were given to us when we were born. They were meant to be shared. So share them! No gift is so small that it is insignificant. I look at some of the great leaders of my lifetime: Martin Luther King, Mahatma Gandhi, Rosa Parks, Malala Yousafzai, John Kennedy, the list goes on. They made a huge difference in the world with their gifts. Mine are much smaller, but by no means insignificant. Making just a little difference in this world is just as important as making a big difference. You never know when you do something as simple as smiling at someone walking down the street, whether you just might have had an impact on them.

And finally,

4. Be happy

Every coin has two sides. If you are looking at the sad side, turn it over! Find joy in the smallest of things: a sunny day, the laughter of children, a smile from someone walking down the street!

Do these four things each day of your life, and you will have lived well.

 

Here is a final picture of the  four Thompson brothers, taken in Illinois this past June at our reunion. From left to right are: Douglas, Herbert, James, and David.