Saturday, November 02, 2002

I'm wondering, tonight, where my brother is. My eldest brother is prison. He was in prison in Arizona, and he may still be for all I know. He asked my mother to write a letter for him, to explain that she had a terminal illness and that he needed to be brought back to Ohio to be close to the family. I wrote the letter for her. I don't know if he's being transported back to Ohio or not. Before, I could look up his listing on the website of the prison he was in. Now he's missing. But I don't see him in any Ohio prisons either. Maybe he's in transit. For all I know, he could be damn near anywhere, including hell or California (but I repeat myself).

I'm wondering where my brother is and questioning whether or not I care. He used my mother's illness in an attempt to shorten his prison stay. He hasn't had to give her shots, or wash blood out of her hair, or wait for countless hours to find out whether or not she's even alive after major surgery. The truth is, even if he'd been here for those things, he wouldn't have suffered with or for her. He doesn't care about her or anybody but himself. Why did I write that letter? He doesn't deserve a shorter prison sentence. I don't even want him to have a shorter sentence. But I wrote it because he's my brother and I felt that, if I had the chance to make his life easier in any way, I should do it. It was intended as an act of love. But perhaps it would have been more loving to let him suffer the consequences of his actions rather than bail him out.

When the hell did I start thinking it was important for people to suffer the consequences of their own actions? I guess this is growing up.