What Thanksgiving Means- PART ONE

I know many of us will be celebrating Thanksgiving here in the U.S on Thursday, and even into the weekend. I hope, for each of you, that yours if filled with love, laughter, and family.

For my family, Thanksgiving holds a tender spot. As you may know, if you've been here a bit, my brother died on November 25th, 2004, on Thanksgiving day.

I am not sure I've ever told the "story" of Bri's death on here, but I think I will today, if anything, to be therapeutic for myself.

Brian was paralyzed in a car accident in September of 1999 at the age of 21. He had a bruised spine and fractured vertebrae C1 and C2. This left him paralyzed from the chest down, and with limited use of his left side. He was still able to drive and take care of himself. Like many paraplegics, he could lead a full life. However, he didn't really live up to this. Although he still found ways to hunt, fish, work on his '66 SuperSport SS, and other activities; he found himself in a deep depression. This depression, in part, lead to his death.

You see, Bri developed a bed sore. He knew that if he told his doctors, he would have to spend an extended amount of time in the hospital. Brian had plans. He had tickets to the Nascar races, cruise tickets, car shows...things to do. Sitting in the hospital for a month or more didn't fit into his plans. So, he decided to take care of it himself.

As you would expect, he couldn't. A week after my mom, Brian, and I came back from a Caribbean cruise, my dad found him, too weak to even get off the couch. My dad discovered the bedsore and immediately started to cry. Dad had researched this stuff, and knew how deadly these could be. Not wanting to bother with the local hospital, my mom and dad drove Brian down to a good hospital in the Twin Cities.

It was one long month. Brian was admitted on October 24th. From the beginning, things did not look good. He had sepsis, and his body was fighting hard to even stay stable. For the first week Bri was in the hospital, he was in a coma. The doctors said that he could come out if it if he wished, but that his depression and anger at himself was so great, he was keeping himself in it.

Throughout the month, Brian had several surgeries. They attempted to clean the bedsore, cutting out a large part of his thigh, including the bone. There was talk of amputation if they could not get things under control. Throughout that time, I believe Brian had around 7 surgeries. At one point, he ran a fever for 4 days, until they discovered a softball sized cyst in his stomach that had eaten through his stomach lining. He would be unable to eat for 2-3 months, if not longer.

We took turns as family members, being down there with him. Elijah and my nephew (who was 5 months at the time) were not allowed in the room, because he was considered so infectious.

The night before he died, my mom and I were in his room talking to him. I called Corey as we left the hospital and told him how normal Brian looked. How healthy, full of color, and even his usual little shit self. It was so odd, because here he was, looking so normal, yet he had just gotten out of a surgery 2 hours before, and was so sick.

Right before my mom and I left, Brian had a beagle stuffed animal on his bed. He took it and asked me to give it to Elijah. With my heart beating through my chest, I said no. I knew, knew, that if Brian was giving this away (it had been on his bed for a month) that the end was near. He told me he wanted Elijah to have it. He missed him, and being able to see him during the last month.

I took it and ran from the room, so he wouldn't see me cry. The next day? November 25th, 2004, we would say goodbye to Brian.

continued tomorrow.