The last time I saw my brother

I’ve been thinking about my brother. About that time in Denmark. The last time I saw him.

We had taken a taxi into the city and I had wheeled him into a camping store in Aalborg. He knew that he would die soon. He bought a pair of walking boots, a knife, and sunglasses. 

I had given him my hat, a flat cap that I loved, that I felt good in. I liked the fact that he enjoyed it. That it gave him comfort to wear it. He wore it all the time.

There were long days in the hospice. A very liberal, caring place. We tested their patience with our wine drinking, our smoking. We lit a fire in the fire pit at night and ordered pizzas.

There was a green room there – filled with plants and wooden surfaces, a deep sink. A calmness emanated from the plants.

A woman came into our room and sang – she was part of the clinic. She was very mystical and she hypnotised us with her music and we fell asleep. My brother still had his charm. On another day this same woman passed him and he took her hand and bowed his head and kissed it. The gesture was genuine and the woman was touched. 

My brother, even more apparent in that gaunt face, had his blue eyes. His long eyelashes.

We watched YouTube videos together – restoration of old watches, a battered Rolex. All sorts of tools, implements, polishing, a pressure chamber, tiny arms, springs. And at the end, the watch was shining, pristine.

He wanted me to take him fishing but the logistics of that were too much. I felt guilty for refusing.

I was floating at this time, adrift. This was in the period of separation from P. I had been seeing a woman, Maria, but she wanted to end the relationship. At night, in my hotel room, we had endless, unsatisfactory conversations. One of us, I don’t know which, wanted more than the other could offer.

One day I took the morning for myself and went to the Kunsten art gallery. I spent a long time in a room filled with broken mirrors. As always in these places I took away only a vague idea of whatever it was I was supposed to feel.

Back at the hospice I watched the robot mowers on the school lawn opposite. One afternoon, wheeling my brother around the grounds, we stopped to watch a hare. It was still, frozen in that moment, looking at us. I wondered what it meant, as an omen, I mean.

After that trip into town, I left him at dinner. There was some commotion. He wanted to come with me but it wasn’t allowed and he became violent, shouting. Back at the hotel I learned that they had had to sedate him. He didn’t wake up the next day, nor the day after that. I needed to return to the UK. I visited him for the final time. He was still sleeping, my hat was on the table next to the bed. His new boots were by the door, I put them on, and left my own in their place. He never woke up. This was the last time I saw him.