Brother Broken


Meet Denis...

Denis was three persons in one—a trinity. There was the Denis before the accident, the Denis after the accident, and the Denis after the onset of his illness. Each had his own distinct personality. About the only things the three had in common were his body, soul, and remarkable intelligence.

I don’t have an accurate recollection of Denis, or what he was like before the accident. He was almost seven years older, and I was four when the accident happened. He was a free spirit, full of confidence, and not afraid to try new things. I doubt he had much interest in spending time with his younger siblings.

He had expressive eyebrows, a sweet smile, and remarkable eyes, framed by long lashes. He had the look of a choirboy—innocent and angelic. My older siblings revealed he was more like a character from the old sitcom The Little Rascals. His fiery spunk likely contributed to the injury that knocked him down. He was wrestling with some boys in the backyard, fell, struck his head on a rock, and nothing was ever the same.

Normally a fall or a scrape from messing around would call for a cold cloth, a hard rub, or a swipe of Mercurochrome. My brothers and I were always tending minor wounds due to gutsy exploits. We got goose-egg lumps from rock fights; we punctured our feet on rusty nails from running barefoot through junkyards. I had a tooth knocked out playing road hockey. These bumps and cuts warranted basic attention, without cause for concern—unlike the injury Denis acquired.

Denis around 1961

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