Big Brother


I was going to spend this week writing about how my Dad went from a raging mad, insanely scary drunk who made anyone who knew him tremble with fear to a raging mad, insanely scary Alcohol and Drug Counselor who made anyone who knew him tremble with fear. But I'm not done yet getting all the facts from my family as of yet.(Yes I actually try to get a few "real" facts in here.)
Besides On November 23, it will be the 5th anniversary of my brother Steve's death. As sad as the time I wrote about my sister's death, Steve's was much more so. I could write about that time 5 years ago easily. Every minute, every detail is still etched in my mind. But it is still way too soon. The wounds are too fresh.
Besides the point here isn't that Steve is dead. The point here is that Steve lived. He lived a imperfect, insanely weird live that affected everyone around him. This world is a much poorer duller place without him. I've compared my family as a table with one leg missing since his death. Everything seems a bit rocky and unstable now.
Steve would do anything for family. Even if he was mad at you at the moment he would go to hell and back for a family member if they needed him. The day he mad his mad dash to the hospital when he thought my son's life was in danger still touches me to this day.
Yet he was also goofy as hell. Steve was the type of man who eyed his lawn gnomes with great distrust every time he went to his car. When he was drunk (and sometimes sober) he thought there might be an F.B.I. lesbian couple watching him from across the street. When a man began stalking my wife, Steve began to stalk the stalker.
I first noticed Steve was ill at my son Ethan's birthday party in 1998. He had turned a yellow shade that was only noticeable outside. A few weeks later he was in the hospital. When he came home he was thin and weak. We all knew it was serious.
A few weeks after that I began to have my own health issues. My eye became horribly inflamed for the second time in my life. Light hurt me. I was off work for a month, spending all my time in a darkened house. One day in late July there was a knock on the door. I had Ethan answer it.
He came back with a card in his hand. I took it out of the envelope and looked at it. On the front of the simple little card was a child's picture of a tree with a single green flower. It read, If I had One Wish......
Inside it continued...I'd Wish You Well! Feel Better Soon. Under that in Steve's handwriting was written, Hope your feeling better Steve.
I asked Ethan,"Did Uncle Steve give you this?"
"Yes Dad."
I ran outside ignoring the glare. I found Steve in my backyard walking slowly towards his car. He still looked horribly ill. Thin and pale with that ghastly yellow complexion. He was still very unwell. I called out his name. He stopped walking and turned around. The light was really bothering me.
"Hey Steve", I said. "You want to come inside?"
"No. I need to go home."
I laughed a little. "Aren't we a pair? You looking like the walking dead. Me with the possessed eye." I smiled at him. He smiled back. I had the card in my hand. I made a gesture towards it. "Thanks."
I wanted to say more. You know, that stuff that men don't say to each other. I wanted to let him know how much it touched me that while Steve was as sick as he was he was worried about me. I also felt ashamed that I had been so wrapped up in my own self pity that I had forgotten Steve's condition.
Steve just nodded and smiled. He turned around and walked to his car.
Four months later he was dead. The next few days were maybe the worst of my life. Sometime during that period I found the card Steve had given me and displayed it on the Piano in our house. Everytime someone came over I would show them the card and tell the story of my big brother.
In honor of my brother, I named my youngest son Isaac Steven Hernandez
On December 23, 2001 God burned my house down. (Yes my second fire.) I was in another town about to have Christmas Dinner with my in-laws when I got the news. During the 45 minute trip I kept saying to my wife ,"It won't be that bad."
It was that bad. My living room was a big hole.
The first thing I checked on when I walked into my house was Steve's card. Thank God it was unburned. That night it was the only thing I took from my house. Later when we got a motel room I put it on my night stand.
I still have it. It sits on my dresser mirror. To remind me of my brother.
Steve was a wild man. He loved to drive fast and play the guitar. He loved wrestling and Boxing. He came over to my house and watched every great boxing match of the 1990's with me. To this day whenever there is boxing on I make sure that there is an empty chair for him.
For the rest of the week in honor of Steve my blog will consist of Steve stories.

Steve was many things to many people but to me Steve was my big brother, and I loved him very much. He was also the best damned guitar player I ever heard.






Steve Fact
After he died his son Kris was going though some of Steve's papers and photo's when he found a speeding ticket Steve had been given. Steve was ticketed for doing well over 100 miles an hour. Steve kept the ticket for two reasons that he was very proud of.
1. Because he beat the ticket in court.
2. Because he was slowing down when the cop saw him. He had been going faster.