Cowardice comes in a lot of forms. I think we all are guilty of taking the easy way out sometimes. Avoiding someone we know to be unpleasant in the market. Rolling over at the umpteenth teenaged request instead of putting down the proverbial foot.
And then, sometimes, there are the more grandiose versions, like the coward that beat my brother nearly to death two weeks ago. Wherever you are pal, there are some things I’d like you to know:
Kris is going to make it. We weren’t so sure there for a while.
Even after the truly life and death scares, our family is still left on a precipice of uncertainty. Like yesterday. I went to visit Kris, and he’d been moved to another room. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what I thought when I went to his old room only to find the bed made up for a new customer, and the room completely vacant of all vestiges of my brother. And then, how deprived of complete relief I was when I finally found his new room and was unable to embrace him like I wanted because he is in so much pain.
I’m sure you’d like to know that Kris only has a few tubes remaining. One of them is a feeding tube. You beat him so badly that he is still unable to keep solid food down. There is something inherently wrong with watching an innately thin, 130-pound man be fed a smelly, ecru-stained fluid through a tube that goes straight into his small intestine. There is an uncharitable part of me that would like to see you hooked up like that, unable to shovel food automatonically into your pie hole.
I’m sure you’d like to know that it takes a nurse, family member, or physical therapist to help Kris into the bathroom. How old are you? Do you know what it’s like to watch my 32 year-old brother struggle as much with his dignity as he does with his body to go take care of those basic needs?
Because you have yet to show your face, there is a part of me that is so repulsed by your cowardice. I have racked and racked my brains to think of some just way to gain closure from what you did to Kris. Unfortunately, the only thing that comes to mind is dealing you the same blows. Part of me feels a sense of justice at the thought of you convulsing in a bloody heap on a sidewalk, virtually unresponsive, writhing in pain, mistaken for drunk for twelve hours while you bleed internally, losing consciousness, ounce by ounce, feeling your life literally drain from your veins.
Let me tell you what keeps me from shouting at the steps of town hall until that justice—or something like it—is exacted.
My step-mother. She can barely look at Kris without breaking down in sobs. She has been in a fog since this happened. She is so grateful he is still alive, and so pained to see him so physically wrecked by your wicked hand. I’m sure you have or had a mother. I would not like to see another mother endure what mine has in this situation.
My sister. She can’t even bring herself to go see Kris. She just cries when we try to tell her that he’s going to be okay. Maybe you have a sibling, too.
My brother. He is stunned by what has happened to him. He only wonders what he could have possibly done to provoke this behavior. He has no memory of the beating, or the several hours leading up to it.
You have shown your machismo. We all get it. You are a big strong bully who can hurt people.
I’m just curious: can you be man enough to stand up and take responsibility for what you’ve done?
And then, sometimes, there are the more grandiose versions, like the coward that beat my brother nearly to death two weeks ago. Wherever you are pal, there are some things I’d like you to know:
Kris is going to make it. We weren’t so sure there for a while.
Even after the truly life and death scares, our family is still left on a precipice of uncertainty. Like yesterday. I went to visit Kris, and he’d been moved to another room. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what I thought when I went to his old room only to find the bed made up for a new customer, and the room completely vacant of all vestiges of my brother. And then, how deprived of complete relief I was when I finally found his new room and was unable to embrace him like I wanted because he is in so much pain.
I’m sure you’d like to know that Kris only has a few tubes remaining. One of them is a feeding tube. You beat him so badly that he is still unable to keep solid food down. There is something inherently wrong with watching an innately thin, 130-pound man be fed a smelly, ecru-stained fluid through a tube that goes straight into his small intestine. There is an uncharitable part of me that would like to see you hooked up like that, unable to shovel food automatonically into your pie hole.
I’m sure you’d like to know that it takes a nurse, family member, or physical therapist to help Kris into the bathroom. How old are you? Do you know what it’s like to watch my 32 year-old brother struggle as much with his dignity as he does with his body to go take care of those basic needs?
Because you have yet to show your face, there is a part of me that is so repulsed by your cowardice. I have racked and racked my brains to think of some just way to gain closure from what you did to Kris. Unfortunately, the only thing that comes to mind is dealing you the same blows. Part of me feels a sense of justice at the thought of you convulsing in a bloody heap on a sidewalk, virtually unresponsive, writhing in pain, mistaken for drunk for twelve hours while you bleed internally, losing consciousness, ounce by ounce, feeling your life literally drain from your veins.
Let me tell you what keeps me from shouting at the steps of town hall until that justice—or something like it—is exacted.
My step-mother. She can barely look at Kris without breaking down in sobs. She has been in a fog since this happened. She is so grateful he is still alive, and so pained to see him so physically wrecked by your wicked hand. I’m sure you have or had a mother. I would not like to see another mother endure what mine has in this situation.
My sister. She can’t even bring herself to go see Kris. She just cries when we try to tell her that he’s going to be okay. Maybe you have a sibling, too.
My brother. He is stunned by what has happened to him. He only wonders what he could have possibly done to provoke this behavior. He has no memory of the beating, or the several hours leading up to it.
You have shown your machismo. We all get it. You are a big strong bully who can hurt people.
I’m just curious: can you be man enough to stand up and take responsibility for what you’ve done?
2 comments:
I'm so sorry about your brother!! That's so awful... I'll keep him in my thoughts, and I hope the punk who did this get's what's coming to him.
Susanne, I'm so sorry to hear what happened to your brother. I pray for a speedy recovery. And I applaud you for channeling your anger to such beautiful prose. Know your words touch and reach farther than blows ever will.
-Christy
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