Lisa...

I had a visit with Lisa today.
Her family has decided to let Hospice take over some of her care.
I've been trying to put my feelings into words for the last few weeks. No luck.
I apologize for blog posts that have been random, superficial and pretty uninteresting.
It's hard to sound entertaining when my mind is oatmeal and my heart is a lump.

When my brother was fighting his illness I was 32 years old.
My Molly was a baby, and my other three kiddos were a handful. I didn't visit my brother often. 
It was easy to hide behind my cluttered life and believe everything would be fine.
I talked with him on the phone, and he always kept our conversations upbeat.


We never mentioned the possibility that one of these phone chats just might be the last for us.

I never said goodbye, there wasn't a last kiss, or a hug, or even a silly slice of advice.
I remember our last phone conversation when he asked about his newest niece, made a joke about his little sister having four kids, and told me that Catholics now sanction some forms of birth control. 
His humor never faded.


I saw him three days later in the hospital. 


There weren't any words spoken, just a slight squeeze of my hand, and a smile.
That was our goodbye. 
He exited this world the same way he entered...quietly but with purpose.

Lisa told me today that she's going to look for my brother. 
She said it with such sincerity that it took me a few moments to say anything.
Eventually I found my voice, and I told her that he most likely would be looking out for her.
My brother was a leader and a protector, I doubt that's changed.
I told her she'd be in good hands. She smiled.