Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.

My brother, Kent

It hit me hard this morning, right after I finished up the ironing and was trundling young Nigel Jr. off to see his Nanna. In the car, we're talking about family and goofy stuff, including Nigel Jr.'s late uncle Kent, and as we were talking I went what's today? and Nigel Jr. told me...turns out that today is the 5th anniversary of his uncle's (my brother's) death. Not only to the date, but to the day.

So that all came flooding back to me. Five years ago today, Sunday, it was sunny and cold in D.C., where I'd gone to help my brother move. He was selling his Capitol Hill townhouse and was moving in with me, in Atlanta. The night before, the Saturday, he'd sounded really strange on the phone, complaining about how he felt like he had the flu and that he "couldn't feel his legs." So I decided I was gonna fly up to D.C. and help with the move, given that he was sick and all. I called him back Saturday night but no answer; never mind, I thought I'd surprise him by showing up. Landing on the Sunday morning and calling: no answer. Arrive at his home. No answer. Banging on the door. Dogs barking inside; his car parked outside...he had to be there...running around the back to see if there's a way in. Nothing. Finally, break the door down. Kent is dead on the floor, apparently had been for many hours, dogs barking at me, the police come, the D.C. forensic people (who joke and laugh while processing the body for removal, hey, thanks, guys)...I identify him officially by looking at a Polaroid of his dead face, mouth and eyes wide open, yes, that's my little brother...and then it's just me and there's him lying on the floor, waiting for the D.C. mortuary van. They came and went and then it was an empty house and me.

What a fun day. And to make matters worse, they could never determine the exact cause of death. "Natural causes"--whatever the hell that means.

Here's the thing to understand about my brother. He was amazingly smart. His IQ was off the charts; straight A's all through High School and then on to Harvard. He was an athlete, too, swimming and soccer, captain of both teams in high school, and for swimming, was heavily recruited by Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Columbia, the whole Ivy League thing. He spoke fluent idiomatic Japanese. Business acumen: at a glance he could figure out why a supermarket or food service business wasn't succeeding (this ended up being his specialty), and he made his career this one thing.

Most importantly he was a sweet, nice man who wouldn't harm a fly, and who had a sense of humor so crazed that, as an example: he used to call me on my 40 minute ride home, haranguing me in Japanese as if he was a samurai. You know, that thing they do in Akira Kurosawa movies, where no matter what they're talking about, they're yelling at each other, really guttural? Funny as hell. 40 minutes, straight, and not a word in English.

What he couldn't handle was that his wife left him for another...woman. He never got over that, couldn't reconcile it, and it ultimately I believe is what killed him. Died of a broken heart at age 44.

So please tonight, if you can, raise a glass for my dead brother Kent, who I miss completely and wish every day was around to call me in Japanese. Thanks.

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 3:23 PM