lay me down to sleep

My brother is sick. Really sick. The kind you don't joke about anymore because there is no laughter left in your home.

I used to be quite emotional about the situation and would cry at the drop of a dime. I also used to be optimistic and hopeful if we're using descriptors as our gauge. It is not that I have lost any of those emotions - it's just that I have to be realistic. Because no one else will. Because at the end of this I can't be devastated into submission like I have numerous other occasions when I've been blissfully hopeful that things would work out. No no no. Not this time. It is likely my brother will die. And very soon.

You can look at me in horror and judge me all you want. I will not pretend any longer that there is a positive outlook here. If I'm proven wrong then all the better. I'm sure champagne will fall from the heavens and unicorns will frolic through rainbows and all that jazz. Dazzle me. Make me look like an idiot. Please.

I'm trying to find out the answers to those questions I shouldn't ask - what song do you want played at your funeral? Do you want to be buried or cremated? What kind of tattoo do you want me to get in remembrance of you? (He said he wants me to get the WWE symbol and I told him to fuck off.)

I do not ask him these things to be cruel, but instead to spark some sort of reaction in him. A big part of his illness momentarily is inaction on his part and I feel that by making his death seem real and imminent then it might force his hand. What do I know? If it doesn't I at least know that if I mention his foot fetish in my eulogy he'll strike me down with a lightening bolt from heaven.