Four years ago at the age of 67, I became an orphan. And on Dec. 20, 2017, I transitioned from being a sibling to an only child.
My mom's mantra, "Life isn't always fair," hit home when my brother Jim passed away after a two-month battle with multiple and insidious health issues. The not fair premise coupled with survivor's guilt have propelled me into free fall.
Jim was — it's hard for me to refer to him in the past tense — three years my junior.
I called him the "quinoa kid," a gardener who cultivated and ate his organic veggies. My diet gravitates toward empty calories.
He could solve cryptic crossword puzzles in ink and leave no blanks. My attempts, scrawled in pencil, end up with countless erasures and holes bored through the paper.
Jim traveled across the world on tours espousing environmental causes. His photographs could have easily graced the cover of National Geographic. I also saw the world but that was 50 years ago and I hitchhiked most of the time. My photos? Jaundiced snapshots.
We were opposites in many ways, prompting people to wonder if we had the same parents. He embraced a rural lifestyle alone in Vermont whereas I migrated south to the warm and often sauna-like climate of Florida where our neighbors are just a stone's throw away.
During our youth we qualified as poster kids for sibling rivalry carried to the max. Once he broke my nose when I refused to vacate a neighbor's hammock. And I retaliated by tattling on him for every minor infraction.
As adults we acknowledged and encouraged our differences. We bonded as we remembered a rich, non-micromanaged childhood of rescuing fallen birds and trapping fireflies in jars.
Our common childhood cemented our relationship but as expected, we forged our own paths to follow our dreams and passions. Even though we never finished each other's sentences and didn't talk every day, we knew we could depend on one another.
That link has now been broken. Yes, rationally I know Jim is physically gone but he will endure in my memories and those I share with others, a guarantee of immortality. Godspeed, Jim, and when we meet again, I hope I too can complete cryptic crossword puzzles in ink.
Patricia Misiuk is a Lakeland, Florida resident. You can reach her at SHOOK46@aol.com.