Never EVER Forget What They Did.

Friends, my guardian angel came through for me again today. He’s a real prince. Love that guy. I knew going to bed last night that I would have a lot on my plate today and so I asked him to wake me up extra hard today so I could get to the early Mass. How early is that Mass? 6AM. That means I had to be up at 5:20. I worked out really hard last night and did not sleep that well. But, the angelic being assigned to me by God Almighty made sure to assist me in getting out of bed.

As I was leaving that Mass the thought popped into my head that today is an anniversary and that I should have made the person who’s anniversary it is my primary intention at Mass.

And all day long I’ve been thinking about him.

My big brother Brian was a character. He had his faults. We all do. A natural salesman, I remember a moment in his younger days when he showed a lot of people “how it’s done”. I share this story now to show you a glimpse of his life.

For the unfamiliar, the Port Authority Trans Hudson (PATH) trains is a commuter rail line that connects New Jersey with Manhattan. In the mid-1980’s PATH introduced a dollar-feeding machine at the turnstiles. The fare to ride was a dollar. Most commuters still carried quarters for the turnstiles. Coming home from work in the City one evening, Brian saw long lines of straphangars waiting to pay their fares in quarters but almost no one at the dollar bill turnstiles. He walked into a bank on the concourse and emerged with a truly brilliant plan. He sold dollar bills for five quarters a piece. The weary commuter who just didn’t want to wait in his line was ecstatic to part with 25 cents for the privilege of getting on the next train home.

I remember tons more. I remember being five years-old and the excitement of my big brother taking me to Madison Square Garden to see the Ringling Brothers circus. I remember him letting me man the microphone at the college radio station he ran when I was nine. I remember standing on the roof of the World Trade Center next to him. I was twelve. I looked out on the world and thought, “This is the coolest thing ever…”

As I grew older, my brother strayed far from the path that our parents had taught us to follow. Politically, spiritually, there wasn’t much to bind us together anymore but I still remembered the guy I knew.

A “therapist” had him taking Xanax or some other such nonsense for years. Let me state this clearly and I hope it sinks in. Don’t ever touch that shit. It is Satan’s Tic Tacs and no good can come of it. Yet even there I don’t think he was so far gone just yet.

Then came 2020.

My brother was the most social human being you would have ever met.

Do you remember what they did? Do you remember how they locked us all in our homes? Do you remember how they let our loved ones get sick and die alone? Do you remember your world being turned upside down?

This man who thrived on the company of others, who could chat up a deaf mute and for whom the thought of being in isolation was a nightmare could only endure so much.

From March until July of that year he bought into the hype until he couldn’t anymore.

I remember.

I remember that four years ago this very night my sisters and I had the lovely task of informing our mother that her son had hung himself.

I know.

“Forgive and ye shall be forgiven.”

It’s hard.

The late Fr. Buckley – known to many readers of these pages – said a requiem Mass for his soul. That was a great comfort.

Forgive.

Let go.

Don’t forget.

Pray for him.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him!