Take care of those you love

Oldest brother went bust for the second time and killed himself; I’m hanging on by my chipped painted nails; and middle brother was always the King of Cash.

Bought his house cash; a boat; an Alfa Spider; built a grotto bar – fugly but expensive – at his pool… But then the government contracts stopped.

It didn’t dry up; it just stopped – and I guess he dried up. Our relationship certainly did.

A best friend fading away

As much as he was my best friend – buying my Barbie a Bob riding a Jeep growing up – it withered under the strong woman (mother, I call it) he married.

And there were three: the last two each a decade older than him. They never liked me; always thought our relationship was inappropriately threatening. Maybe they were right.

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I did play doctor-doctor with him, too, as a child. But child’s games don’t define either me or my brother. I love him. A fact I have ignored for four years now because it’s just hard work fighting a wife.

And then he always had drama: a child creeping out of the woodwork from wife number 2. He bought her a car that she drove back to the Durban docks where she “worked”.

We are sitting at the Hollies concert that cost me thousands and all he does is text her… But she sucked him dry and moved on. Nobody ever heard from her again.

A Christmas reunion?

But here’s the thing: you know, Christmas and all and we want to bring the dysfunctional family together under one roof? My amends led to nothing. Zero. Zilch. Neither him, nor the Witch of EastJoburg’s phone are working anymore.

I got the week-delayed SMS that my “Call me please, Lynn” had bounced. I started checking records: his number hasn’t worked for years; her, I last spoke to in April.

I didn’t get my usual birthday wish in September, neither did my daughter in July. But we didn’t see the red flags.

We should’ve – but life happens, I tell myself.

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Lost and found

Last I heard they were living in the cottage at the back, renting out the enormous house to a pastor who only paid for three months. Did he get rid of the guy? Does he still have the Spider he couldn’t sell for love or money?

So his estranged son knocked on his gate yesterday. And yes, he is alive; emaciated and just a little bit mad.

The Witch of EastJoburg “died from a heart attack long ago”, the son hears.

“My phone doesn’t work. Buy me a new one,” is his excuse for not telling us.

But I would’ve known if I cared more. How could I neglect him for so long?

My guilt is tremendous. I hope my mom forgives me…

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