I sat there, staring into my coffee. It was a simple, regular cup of coffee, but it was so much more. It was a conduit for conversation; it was an escape from the harshness of reality; it was the place I spent with my brother…my confidant…for so many years. We shared love, laughter, heartache, despair, and comfort right there. Coffee houses have always been hubs for intellectual conversation, radical reform, and social interaction, but sitting there, in that moment, all I was concerned about was my brother. I thought about the good times, the bad times, the “normal” times; basically, I thought about the different stages of life we’d carried each other through, all over a simple cuppa Joe.
As I stared into the dark liquid, I saw a portal into the past: My brother and I were sitting at a table drinking coffee. I said to him, “You do understand that if I spend my money to help you, you’re gonna be stuck with me, right?”
“Yeah, I understand," he replied.
“I hope so, Joe. Once I use my money for you, I won’t have any left to get a place for me.”
“Don’t worry, Sis, we got this.”
I smiled to myself. This conversation kicked off one of the best decades of my life. For ten years, my brother and I were roommates, and it was amazing. We shared expenses, hung out, played DnD, and went out for coffee every day. I couldn’t ask for a better roommate.
While I was happily reminiscing, the scene in the cup changed. I saw Joe in tears. Since he hardly ever cried, the rarity of this made it even more heartbreaking. He looked up and said, “Spirit is gone.” My heart fell. Joe had always been a free spirit. He gave love without question, but romantic love was different. His love was magical; it was something out of a fairytale. His romantic love was something that needed to be earned, not given. One woman was able to gain that love; she then betrayed him. He never gave up hope that she would see the error of her ways…until he found that she had taken her own life. The one woman my brother had ever loved was gone.
The surface of the liquid rippled and another scene appeared. There I was, on the floor, seizing. My brother quickly put my head in his lap to prevent me from injuring myself. The 30 second seizure seemed to last forever. When it finally stopped I was disoriented…in a fugue state. The fugue state ended and I could see the bruises on Joe’s arms and legs starting form; the bruises he sustained protecting me. This was not long after I had been diagnosed with epilepsy. As I remembered that dark time, I knew in my heart that without my amazing brother, I would probably be dead.
Guilt started to well up inside me. As it did, the visions in the cup started coming in rapid succession: Joe was working in the kitchen of a restaurant. He suddenly fell to the floor. People around him rushed to help. I felt panic set in as everyone and everything seemed to close in around him. I felt like screaming, but no sound came. I wanted to reach out, but my arms felt paralyzed as the paramedics took him away.
Joe had come to stay with me. He’d lost so much motor control, he could barely walk. He insisted on using a cane, but he probably needed a wheelchair. He wanted so badly to cling to his independence, but he and everyone around him could see it slipping away. I wanted with all my heart to be able to take care of him, but I simply couldn’t. At 6’4” and almost 300 lbs., he was impossible for me to move if something happened. I had to send him back with my parents.
Joe was lying in a hospital bed with tubes and machines hooked up all over. He was swollen and had gained weight. It was hard to tell which was which. He looked so miserable…and I felt so helpless to alleviate his pain. I wanted so badly to take his pain for myself…to give him his life back, but all I could do was stand witness to his agony.
I started crying and closed my eyes not wanting to see what came next. I can’t, I screamed in my head.
You must, I heard Joe's voice reply in my head.
I don’t want to, I cried softly.
You must, the voice repeated.
I wiped away my tears and gazed into the cup once more. I was in my bed asleep when my phone rang; it was my father. “If you want to say goodbye to Joe, you need to hurry.”
The scene settled on Joe in a hospital bed. My intelligent, compassionate, amazing brother had no cognitive understanding that we were there. Machines were breathing for him, keeping him alive. I was so heartbroken; this is not what Joe wanted. He made that clear over and over, “I never want to be on life support.” Why would my parents go so blatantly against his wishes? I know that it's hard to let go, but it's not about letting go, it's about respecting the people you love. I have no idea if he heard me or understood me, but I told him to “let go. You don’t have to please anybody else anymore. Do what’s right for you.” It took a discussion with the doctors and my concurrence with them to convince my parents to take him off of life support. A few hours later, he was gone.
I’ve been through a lot of hard stuff in my life, but losing my brother is at the top of the list. Now I have a pendant that holds some of Joe’s ashes so that I can always carry my brother close to my heart. Coffee was always a big part of our relationship, so every morning I think of him. His death transformed a simple morning ritual into a memoir for a person who helped shape my life. RIP "Dragon Joe." You are loved and missed.
In loving memory of Joseph Michael Janoski “Dragon Joe” 2/5/1976-2/8/2021.
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