Bittersweet Symphony

I had to stand on the front porch the other night and wait for the pizza guy (note to self: change the porch light bulb). As I was standing in the dark, I was blindsided by bittersweet memories of my brother Zac. He loved waiting on the pizza guy more than any human, stoned college kids included, ever has. He would sit on the top step and patiently wait with a smile on his face when we had ordered pizza. Some days, he would sit and wait even if there was no pizza on its way just because it made him happy. How could I have forgotten that?

Zac was born two weeks before my 16th birthday. His older sister was already living with us due to their birth parents' own issues. Zac did not last long in the home due to life threatening medical issues and his parents' inability to care for them. He was born with biliary atresia, a congenital liver disease. To be honest, I don't know what all he had done to save his life but when he came to us at just a few months old, he looked like an Ethiopian baby with his stick limbs and big, distended belly. There was a horrible scar all the way across his poor belly that looked like he had been roughly cut in two and crudely sewn back together. His medicine regimen was a nightmare and took hours to prepare. He was a sick, sick little boy. 

This is quickly trying to turn in to a treatise on Zac's illness and how his short life was a a long string of hospitalizations interrupted by a few days of false health. That's not what I wanted to share. I wanted to share his love of life, his spirit, his sweet smile and remember his bright spirit while I still can.

This picture was made on Zac's third birthday, a mere five months before he died. Look at that smile! His beloved Beth gave him that cowboy hat and six shooter. At that time, I was a freshman in college and not at home most of the time. I came home for his birthday and made a cake shaped like an ambulance and he was ecstatic  When he wasn't naked (which was most of the time, to be honest) Zac was in overalls. I think we liked them because the billowiness helped hide his watermelon belly. Look at those pitiful legs!

Zac was one of 6 foster children under the age of 6 in our home and half of the boys. He loved terrorizing the girls when he was feeling well. When he mastered the manly art of aiming, he would chase them around the backyard, naked, trying to pee on them. Usually while singing the theme song to "Cops."

Zac's life was too short and filled with too many mind numbing hospital stays and emergencies. I don't know how many days I stayed with him in the hospital, how many hundreds of banana Popsicles we shared. He knew being in the hospital was a one way ticket to unlimited Popsicles  He quickly learned to work the call button and I can still hear him calling out "heeeeey lady! Bring me a Popsicle please!" His body was so ravaged with infection  he always ran a temperature. I can still feel his hot hand patting my cheek, telling me that he loved me. The last time we were together was right as he and Mother were rushing to New Orleans for the long awaited liver transplant, Seeing how upset I was, he climbed in my lap (as much as my 8 month pregnant belly would allow) to comfort me. He was fresh out of the bath for his trip and smelled so sweetly of strawberry shampoo. As he had so many times before, he patted my cheek with his little, hot hand and said "Don't be sad, Beth, It will be okay."

Dammit! There goes the sad again. Banana Popsicles  Strawberry Suave shampoo. Ambulances. Cops. He was deathly afraid of the storm drain in the parking lot of my dorm because he had watched IT with me. His smile slowly becoming blue- tinged as his poor lungs and heart started to suffer from the bastard liver taking up too much space. I think Zac was the one that started the habit of calling my ex by his first and last name that persists to this day. Waiting on the pizza guy, Skinnamarink.

Three years is not enough time to make a lot of memories.