I came home Saturday morning to find blood splatters
- all over the bathroom
- the kitchen sink
- the bathroom sink
And no activity from my brother. Truthfully at this point anything can happen.
When he appears it becomes apparent by the bandage and discoloration over his eyebrow that something happened.
He tells me casually that he fell going down the stairs and proceeds to list for me for the inadequacies of the hall lights motion sensor.
Not long after he asks me if I have any oxy’s. Oxycontin. No, I don’t. I gave you the Norco I got after my surgery.
He tells me how he enjoys the high of the oxycontin. I can appreciate that he wants to escape reality.
But the question is did he fall because of the lack of lighting or because he was shitfaced on oxycontin?
I started to feel sorry for him thinking maybe he is getting frail, he’s had a good ten months and maybe the chemo is just frying him. I thought about how guilty I will feel that I didn’t do more.
Then tonight I came home to the usual in my face confrontation about the deficiencies of my house and family.