It's About My Brother

He’s a surviving Veteran.  Well his body is alive; his will to live is solid.  By the definition of ‘surviving’, he existed.  Now he is living.  

Only in recent months did he move out of his car. Yes, he has once again taken residence in a house!   For many years he lived ‘on the streets’, parks, and beaches in sunny California. 

Three or four years ago he headed northeast, home!  But he wouldn’t come out of his car.  He claimed impaired breathing due to a lung problem caused by working in construction wouldn’t let him breathe when confined in a room, in a house.  He had to be in fresh air.

He had served in Viet Nam.

That unconventional brother of mine had a stroke, maybe five or six years before leaving California.  It was serious.  His good ‘street friends’ telephoned another sibling, my twin, and me. 

Jim, long distance helped him manage life so he could begin receiving veteran’s benefits.  Still that stubborn, now seriously afflicted brother of ours would not accept housing from anyone or any agency.

He checked himself out of the hospital.  Family shrugged shoulders, shook heads, and waited.  He was grown.

Then that spring night three or four years ago I got a call from Jim.  Our brother was in St. Louis.  He wouldn’t come into his home, said he would be okay in his car; had Jim meet him on a street corner; drove Jim back home and said he would be on his way.  Didn’t say where. 

We were thinking he was coming to me.  I was shaken, didn’t want someone, brother or anyone, living in his car in my back yard.  I kept reminding myself, “you’re a Christian woman; you are your brother’s keeper, even your blood brother.”  Agony and prayers that night.   Yes, those previous five words are not a sentence, only a fragment, just like the varied, unkind, and selfish thoughts tumbling about punishing me all night long.

He didn’t come to me.  He kept going northeast, home.

So for three or four years, his car was his home hidden, on the acreage my father bought in 1950.  It was so – until recent months when he moved into a house.  He called to tell me, proudly proclaiming he had windows on the north, east, south and west.   “Marv, there’s excellent ventilation. I’m fine!”

I was motivated to write this blog post when I sat to craft a suggested ‘thank you’ letter requested by my brother.  He claims it will help him write a letter of appreciation regarding the outstanding service he received from his Veteran’s Administration based social worker.  She helped him find a suitable home, deal with his insecurities and use his resources for an improved quality of life.  A letter to the woman's boss is certainly a good thing. I’m thrilled he’s determined to write one.

To the VA Social Worker, my heartfelt thanks for your expertise in bringing such a great difference to my brother’s life and to the other Veterans you help.