A Death in the Family

I've posted about my brother before: first here, and then here.

He died yesterday morning. He was 66 years old.

Luz, the caregiver who adored him, was with him at the end.

After a day of sleep, full of morphine, Ed opened his eyes, saw Luz, laughed, and closed his eyes. Then gradually, he stopped breathing. It was 3 in the morning. He died at home, in his bedroom, surrounded by posters of trains. He always loved trains.

Later that morning, I came to his house and said my goodbyes. He was still in bed, looking peaceful and gaunt. His flesh was cold. His spirit was everywhere.

Ed was a rebel, a non-academic scholar, an original thinker. As the younger brother, my relationship with him was an endless adventure, a trying-to-catch-up.

Later that same day, I learned I have pneumonia. No, thank you, I don't think I'll catch up to Ed's latest move quite yet. It's "minor" pneumonia. I'm supposed to rest - which I will do later, I promise. Right now I have to go out and inspect a couple of houses.

Let's just say it's been a tough weekend so far.

Here's a photo of Ed performing Wagner's Die Meistersinger with the San Francisco Opera. He's the one in the center holding the staff.
Ed's life was something of an opera, too. I'll write about it when I gather my thoughts.