Feeling the Loss of her Brothers

On February 18, my brother George was having a procedure done. A stent was being put in his heart. I could feel my anxiety stirring.
Just two years earlier, we said goodbye to our brother Gus. Pancreatic cancer came and robbed him of his health. It was painful. I remember when he leaned forward one day and told us, “I’m so glad I won’t have to go through this with one of you guys.”

With George in the hospital, I became nervous. I didn’t think I could go through something like that again. I knew I didn’t want to.

By Thursday, my anxiety level had risen. I felt a pressure in my chest. “Mike, I think you should take me to the ER.”

And in moments we were there. The nurse explained what would be happening as soon as I entered that room. It was just as she said. People came at me from all directions. There was no room for modesty as strangers began attaching wires to my chest.

A Familiar Looking Nurse

I was told my blood pressure was off the charts. My stomach hurt, so a nurse came in with a drink for me. “This will eventually numb your mouth, but it will also take care of your stomachache,” he said.

I had to tell him, “You look like my brother Steve.” Brown eyes, like all of us in my family, and dark hair. Yes, he looked like a younger version of Steve.

I asked Mike, “Don’t you think he looks like Steve?”

Mike mumbled, “A little.”

When the doctor left the room, Mike followed him. I was to stay overnight in the hospital. They were waiting for test results.
I said goodbye to Mike and was wheeled upstairs. Maybe I could get some rest. God knew I’d need it.

A Shocking Loss

In the morning, I met my roommate and a room full of her family members. It wasn’t long before Mike arrived with Jessica to take me home.

After I introduced him to my roommate, Mike rose to his feet, all tensed up.

Immediately he blurted out words that still shake me to the core: “Something terrible happened. Your brother Steve had a heart attack and died.”

I heard myself screaming, “No! No!”

Instantly my husband and daughter were by my side. The curtain was pulled to give us a false sense of privacy. No, Steve couldn’t be dead; I just talked to him a few days ago. Steve was fifty-two. No.

But I couldn’t deny it. It was my terrible reality. So two days later, we traveled to Chicago. We stood at the gravesite full of other family members. And once again, I said goodbye to a loved one.

This is excerpted from Broken: A story of abuse, survival and hope.

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Read more from Anne on Open to Hope: Wishing Doesn’t Change Things – Open to Hope