Early in September 2020, I had an hour-long conversation with my brother Chris. In fact, it was one of the best that we had in a long time. We talked about everything that mattered to him most: family, friends, farming, music and Colorado. When I inquired about his general health, he told me that he was feeling pretty good. In fact, so was I. At the time, neither of us knew that it would be the last conversation we'd have on earth.

As September progressed, my brother started feeling poorly. An over 40-year struggle with mental illness had left my brother with a body and mind that were broken at worst and nominally functional at best. Throughout most of his adult life, Chris lived in his own place and worked when his health allowed it. However, as he got older, to do even the simplest tasks, like driving around town, for example, became a struggle for him. By the fall of 2016, when I visited him on the weekends, it became evident that he could no longer keep up with even the simplest of activities required to live alone. Even so, he faithfully reached out to his family and closest friends, inquiring about their lives, and talking about his favorite subjects like family, friends, farming, music and Colorado.

The trouble with a physical illness is that for someone that suffers from mental illness, it can sometimes throw them off of their meds. This happened to my brother in December of 2016 and he was hospitalized. Even though the doctors got Chris completely stabilized, it was evident to everyone that loved my brother that his days of living alone were over. Now on top of everything else, his physical health was just too precarious. Even though he still had a fair degree of independence, an assisted living facility was a part of his future. In time, my brother became a resident at Countrywide Care Center in Macomb, Illinois. By September 2020, Chris had lived at Countrywide for about 3 ½ years. Even so, he had a fair degree of independence. More importantly, he could still talk with someone about family, friends, farming, music and Colorado.

When Chris wasn't getting any better that September, the staff at Countrywide sent him to a local hospital. While their actions might have been the correct ones, the powers that be failed to notify anyone in our family that there was even a problem. In fact, when one of my uncles called for his regular chat with Chris, he was told that Chris wasn't there and in fact, in a hospital in Alton, IL. By that point, Chris was in the fight of his life, with major problems in his lungs and pancreas. After a discussion between the family that loved and cared for Chris the most, it was decided to transfer him to the best hospital in Springfield, IL, where Chris could get the finest medical care in Central Illinois.

The last week in September, I started feeling poorly. In less than a week, all 10 people in the house where I lived showed similar symptoms. On the third visit to my doctor, she suggested that I get a Covid test. So, on Sunday, October 4, I went to Salud Digna and was tested. Even though I was on pins and needles, the likelihood of having Covid was pretty high since everyone in the house was symptomatic. Sure enough, at 6 am on Wednesday, October 6th, I received a notice from Salud Digna that my test came back positive for Covid.

Later that same morning, I received an email from my uncle that Chris was in critical condition in a hospital in Springfield and that I needed to come back to Central Illinois asap. Then I dropped my bombshell, that I had received my positive test result for Covid earlier that morning. My wings were clipped as far as traveling anywhere. In fact, I spent the rest of that month fighting my own personal battle against a fiend that didn't care less whether I lived or died, as long as it could squeeze what it could out of me. But in my more lucid moments, I felt sad because of what all of this was doing to my family back in Illinois. It was as if lightning had struck twice, and pretty close to the same day, too.

Meanwhile, in Springfield, when all the tests came back on what was going on inside of my brother, the prognosis for him was not good. His lungs were 50% damaged. On top of this, his pancreas was 50% damaged, and "angry" as the doctors called it. The combination of these two events gave my brother less than a 5% chance of survival. Even so, my awesome family tried to do everything that they could to save his life. The doctors thought that if his breathing was assisted by mechanical means, maybe that would let his lungs rest and possibly heal as much as possible. Medicines were also given to him to curb the infection in his pancreas. So, Chris was placed in a medically induced coma by given him a paralytic and then intubating him. This is similar to the procedure that a hospitalized Covid patient goes through when their oxygen intake goes too low. (Chris tested negative for the virus). My brother spent the last week of his life in this state.

Twenty-four hours after I received my test result, the virus ushered me into Covid Hell. The best way to describe my days was that they were awful. The only way to describe my nights was that they were horrible. The fever raging in my body made me uncomfortable, and it crunched on the fever reducers like so many M & Ms. Shockingly, there was very little that could be done for me by the medical establishment because the pandemic was still too new and, I was in Mexico. Basically, my doctor told me to treat the illness like a cold or the flu, since it was, after all, caused by a similar virus. I finally figured out that if I doubled the dosage of the fever reducers, it would drop the temperature down a point or two. But, the fever was far from broken. That would come much later.

During that week, I overcame the first of two major breathing crises. Believe-it-or-not, a jar of good, old-fashioned Vicks VapoRub is a great thing to have around. I was directed to breathe it in right out of the jar. Over the next 10 days, it would keep me out of the hospital twice. In Ensenada, everyone that I had know that went into the hospital with Covid was returned to their family in an urn. To this day, I've only known one person that survived their Covid stay in a hospital in Ensenada.

Since time waits for no one, Tuesday, October 13th, 2020, finally rolled around. This was the day that Chris was weaned off the paralytic and brought back from his medically induced coma. Even though everyone hoped for a miracle, my brother died soon afterward. When my brother closed his eyes in death that night, he was immersed in and surrounded by the love of almost everyone that loved him on earth. A split second later, when he opened his spiritual eyes in Heaven, he was immersed in and surrounded by all of the people that loved my brother in Heaven. This included his parents and grandparents, The long and the short of it is that love is the tie that binds, in this world and the next.

I was too out of it to even cry that sad night. In fact, it would be several weeks before this happened. Looking at photos of my brother's funeral for what was probably the umpteenth time, I finally let loose one day and had a good, long, cry. After that was out of my system, I remember a gift that my brother shared with me as a part of almost every conversation that we had for years. Without fail, Chris asked me if I was still following my Christian faith. Usually, I would just roll my eyes (whether I was in front of him or not) and remind him that I wrote articles about God and Christianity. But deep down, I knew exactly what he meant. There was a huge difference between theory and practice. What he would never know is that a part of his almost relentless admonishment helped saved my life last October. When a person is knocking at Death's Door like I was, they can react in one of three ways. One is that they can surrender to their impending fate and pass quietly into eternity. The second option is to curse God for the predicament that they find themselves in and humbly ask for His help and mercy.

My brother would have been proud of me as I chose the third option, basically "where the rubber meets the road" approach to life that he had tried to drum into my head in almost every conversation that we had. As a result, I did a lot of praying throughout that month. I prayed throughout the day and into the night. In fact, the last thing that I did each night before I drifted off to my fitful sleep was praying the exact words that I learned as a child:

"Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."

The main difference was that I believed in this prayer with all my heart, soul and mind.

Today is the first anniversary of the day that our family committed my brother's earthly body back to the land that he loved so much. He enjoyed farming as much as he loved God, family, friends, music and Colorado. Mother Earth was happy to accept this very rare and special gift and said that she would take good care of it.

But Chris had one more gift left for me, even though his spirit was in Heaven and his body was waiting to be interred that day. As God is my witness, around the time that the funeral service started, my Covid-fueled fever broke for good! While I would have ups and downs the rest of that month and in fact for many months afterward, this was a major sign that in God's Providence, my time on earth was not yet done.

Thank you, Chris, for your two wonderful gifts. As my brother knows better than most, I am far from perfect and am my own worst enemy most of the time. However, Chris, I promise that I will never forget that we are creatures designed by a loving Father for all eternity. And, more importantly, I will live the life that I have left here on earth to its fullest. In the meantime, as you did, I will let God and love guide my steps.

Until we meet again in Heaven,

Your grateful brother Tony

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