Tears in Heaven

Remember that Eric Clapton song, Tears in Heaven?
For me, it congures up images of a scruffy, soulful Brit sitting on a stool in the mid-90s with a guitar. Then, I remember my mom's old clock radio that she would use to listen to her light music late at night while she read the latest Deen Koontz novel. I remember my mom's worn old brown robe that my brothers and I took turns wearing or using as a cover when she wasn't around. It smelled like an Oscar de la renta fragrance and Tetley tea. I remember running to her bed after a nightmare. I remember my brother, Tommy bringing me a glass of milk and a kind word when my mom sent me back to my bed. I remember General Foods International Coffee in my aunt's kitchen in Long Island when I spent the night. Memories of my childhood to the beat of light music...

What the song was really about was Eric Clapton's grief over losing his four year old son. That song popped into my mind last night after a particularly rough night. I was thinking about Tommy and our last conversation. It was about a funny sound my car was making. I was driving to pick up my son from daycare and the road was wet. I pulled up to a stop light, perhaps too fast, and my car skidded and made this funny noise like the brake was rumbling beneath my foot and for a brief moment it seemed like the brake wouldn't catch. I called Tommy in a panic. "What if my brakes don't catch next time and I go crashing into the back of somebody's car?" I asked, my heart still racing. He asked me for a few more details and then said, "That sounds like the (something), it's probably fine. Take it to the shop this weekend just to be on the safe side." And like that, my fears were eased and I went on to pick up my son. We chatted briefly about how he was feeling - because I thought he had a cold... so did he - he complained about his TV and then we got off the phone. Last night, I could not help but wonder: Did I say thank you? Could he tell how grateful I was to have him to call?

Tommy and I had the worst sibling rivalry as kids. He was the baby for ten years before I came along and he was not having the transfer of power. He pushed me around, he was stingy with his toys and we argued all the time. For a long time, I was pretty sure he hated me. As we grew, so did our relationship. I know he was proud of me and I was proud of him. I never met a person I didn't brag about my brother the detective. We began to share things - that only we could share. Like the fact that we were both Marc's kid siblings. That meant, in our eyes, that we could bond over how Marc was the "Golden Child" and was the clear favorite of my mom. Not necessarily true BUT our mom did make him her famous banana pudding when he came to visit while we had to beg for it most times. We bonded over our thing for Vampire movies and shows - we both loved Anne Rice novels and were BIG fans of Buffy, The Vampire Slayer. We bonded over being the children of Connie and Tom - which had its own bag of tricks and surprises. We could both be stopped by a gorgeous sky or full moon and take pictures on our camera phone and send them to each other. We watched ABC soaps - and not because we thought the characters were real, but because we saw the absolute hilarity in the fact that they were not - the overacting, the implausible story lines and the insane promiscuity. We both overanalyzed life and its many mysteries. We were scared of everything but acted in spite of our fear because we were brave. We shared a mutual understanding that we would be there for each other... no matter what... no matter when.

Last night, I just couldn't help replaying our 28 year relationship in my mind over and over again. Did he know how much I loved him? How much I actually liked him? How proud I was that he was my brother? Did he know that I forgave him for being so hard on me as a kid? Did he know how much I relied on him? In between my tears last night, I asked my husband all these unanswerable questions. Yes, he said - again and again. Before he passed, I planned on calling him - I wanted to complain about my other brother, Marc. Marc had said something that hurt my feelings earlier in the week. I wanted to tell Tommy so he could put in perspective. That's what he did - he told me the truth. He would tell me whether I was reasonably hurt or not. I planned on calling him but I didn't because he left before I could. Now I don't know if my feelings should have been hurt or not. Although he was unconscious the whole time he was in the hospital, I know Tommy didn't fall asleep until right before he passed - I know because he always slept with his eyes slightly parted. When I got to the hospital his eyes were closed and then, about a half hour before he passed, his eyes slightly parted. Before he fell asleep, I made small talk with him. I told him I loved him but I refused to say goodbye. He started sweating when were talking and I think its because he was fighting. I should have told him to relax, I should have told him more... I am in pain today because I am not sure if he knew how much he meant to me... I am not sure if I knew how much he meant to me.

There is a verse in Tears in Heaven that says: "Time can bring you down. Time can bend your knee. Time can break your heart. Have you begging please. Begging please." The scruffy Brit knew... because he experienced it... that this road will be hard... it may get harder as time passes and it becomes clearer and clearer that I will never see my older brother here on earth again. But Mr. Clapton goes on to say, "Beyond the door, there's peace I'm sure. And I know there'll be no more... tears in heaven." I don't know if he was reconciling his belief that he will be in heaven one day with his son and there will be no more tears or whether he was talking about his son's pain. Either way, the line provided me with some sort of peace. A peace derived from a belief that one day there will be resolution - whether it is in knowing that Tommy is in heaven and feels no pain - or, a peace derived from knowing that if I live my life well, I will see my brother again, there will be no more tears and I will get to say all I wanted to say.
I hope.