Earlier, Herself's Father sent a photograph from pre-op -- Brother's familiar face smiling above the standard-issue hospital gown, the IV already in place. He was holding hands with Dee, a former college girlfriend turned into lifelong friend, who has been a rock of fortitude for him. We were so very glad to see Dee there with him. Having a hand to hold pre-op is absolutely essential, Herself thinks.
Herself looks at the picture, and is just a tiny bit heartsick. She remembers the last time she saw Brother in a hospital gown: it was three decades ago (or more) when Brother had his appendix removed. The years have gone by in the blink of an eye, and she regrets not making efforts to be a better and more communicative sister after they grew up and went their separate ways. Perhaps this is a reminder that she needs to try harder, starting now. That's what she'll do.
One time when they were very young, the family dog tangled with a porcupine while they were all at the primitive summer farmhouse for a weekend. Brother took charge of the siblings: he inspected the medicine cabinet, selected what he believed to be appropriate bandages and other supplies, and handed the items to Herself and their younger sister. He then led them, a worried band of tiny children, down to where their parents were removing the spines from the dog's muzzle. He was reassuring and helpful -- a caretaker even then. That is how he was, and is, and always will be. He's a kindhearted soul.
The summer farmhouse is long gone, as is the family dog (who, back then, made a complete recovery from the encounter with the porcupine and went on to bark down woodchuck holes for years and years afterwards). Brother lives several states away now. He is never far from Herself's heart, though.
Heal well and quickly, Brother Mine.
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