And things have also become surprisingly good between my brother Walt and me from all this mess we’ve been through. Being in the same city, at first I took care of Murray the most, but when Murray needed constant care, we decided to have Walt take over as primary caretaker, which made sense. Walt is the big brother. He’s taken care of all of us at some point or another. Our mom’s first two husbands, our fathers, are a sorry example that Mom’s picker is a little out of whack, but we couldn’t have asked for a better big brother.
For example. After he made Murray’s arrangements for cremation, Walt took a trip to see his friends out-of-state. Walt used to babysit for their son before they moved from St. Joe. Walt visits regularly like he’s their grandpa or weird uncle. While he was up there he called me. We talked for thirty minutes, gabbing away, finishing each other’s sentences, having fun. This is the brother who went to college when I was five. I barely knew him growing up. Now we’re talking to each other like two people who’ve been through something together. Just as we were getting off the phone, Walt said to me, “Love ya to pieces.” My heart smiled. It’s time to tell him my story too.
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