Diapers

I called my brother to the washroom. I thought I could do it alone, but I needed help. I thought I could pull up and straighten the diaper mum had around her hip, but mum had difficulty even just standing up from sitting on the toilet. I needed brother's help.

He came immediately. At that moment, for the first time ever, two sons helped their mother wear a diaper for bedtime. It did not feel awkward, it did not feel embarrassing. We are all family, we, a mother and her children, represent perhaps the closest bond there is. Mum panted as she struggled to her feet. I leaned in close and pulled her diaper up. Through my nostrils, I could smell the hospital still, that scent still lingering on mum's body, even though she showered just before leaving the hospital.

For all the things I can fault brother, of all the moodiness and impatience and his easy irritability, that moment when we brothers helped mum up on her feet and escorted her back to her bed was a beautiful shared moment and experience.

In that moment, I saw that brother can do things if he really tried. My faith in him, my ability to want to see the "goodness" in him were not wrong.

I later told him privately that this is exactly the kind of things I hoped he would do more of. He must try, and learn, or otherwise he'll never know and never really experience mum's life and illness; otherwise he'll miss out on a part of mum's life that is perhaps as important as traveling together and growing up.