My Brother, Josh

by Patricia M. Newman
Originally published in Spider, June 2000
Illustration by Karen Ritz (copyright 2000)

"Throw it home, Josh!" I shouted. My little brother’s tee-ball team was ahead in the last inning, but the tying run was on third. "Home, Josh, home!"

Josh threw the ball home. "Out!" bellowed the umpire.

"I did it!" shouted Josh. "We won!"

“Hey, you run funny!” said a sore loser from the other team. He and his friends laughed at Josh.

"Leave him alone!" exclaimed Josh's team mates.

I walked up behind Josh. "Good game, buddy," I said.

"It was a great game!" he said. "But that kid’s right. When I run my head leans over and my arm hangs down."

"I know, Josh. But people shouldn't tease you about it."

That night Mom and Dad told me Josh was sick. I didn't believe them at first. They had taken him to the doctor, but he didn’t miss any school. And Mom wasn’t making him stay in bed and stuffing him with chicken soup like she usually did when we were sick.

"A tumor is pressing against Josh's brain," said Mom.

"Did I put it there when I punched him?” I asked worriedly.

"No,” said Mom, hugging me tight. “It's been there for a long time.”

"Mom and I just found out about it, too," said Dad. "We asked the doctor about the way Josh runs. She gave Josh lots of tests and found the tumor."

"As it grows, Josh's brain won't work right, so his body won't work right, either," said Mom. "He needs an operation to remove the tumor."

"Then he'll be better, right?"

"We hope so," said Dad. "Josh's doctor has already helped lots of people with tumors."

A few days later Josh went to the hospital for his operation. “Will it hurt him?” I asked.

“No,” said Dad. “The doctor gives Josh some special medicine so he won’t feel anything. Then she’ll cut a tiny hole in the back of his head to get the tumor out.”

But the doctor couldn't remove it.

"What happens now?" I asked.

"She’ll try some different medicines to shrink the tumor," said Mom.

“That’ll work,” I said. “My medicines always work.”

I visited Josh in the hospital right after his operation. Mom and Dad explained what Josh would look like, but I was still surprised when I first saw him. His tall bed had railings on both sides, and machines flashed all around him. Tubes were taped to his arms, and wires were taped to his chest. His bald head was bandaged.

Josh opened his eyes when he heard me. "Hi," he whispered.

"Nice haircut," I said. Josh looked terrible, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Play at my table," said Josh.

So I played dinosaurs. I pretended Josh was playing, too, and I let him be Tyrannosaurus rex, his favorite. Josh watched me play and then slept. I tried to be extra nice, so he would get well.

Lots of doctors and nurses came and went. They all smiled at me, but they were really interested in Josh. Mom and Dad talked to each person for a long time. Sometimes they asked me if I had any questions for the doctors. I liked that.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked the kid in the next bed.

"Cancer," she said.

"My brother has that, too," I said.

Everything changed after Josh went to the hospital. My friend's mom drove me to and from school. Sometimes Mom or Dad came home to kiss me good-night, but they mostly stayed with Josh. Grandma and Grandpa made my favorite dinners and tucked me in at night. They talked to me about Josh and read my favorite books to me. The special treatment was nice, but I missed my family.

One day Dad drove me to school, just like he used to.

"What do you want to talk about, pal?"

"Anything but Josh. Everybody's always talking about him."

So we talked about baseball. For a few minutes, everything was like it used to be.
Another day I pushed Josh to the hospital playroom in his wheelchair.

"Look, Josh. I made a superhighway," I said. "Let's drive our trucks on it."

"I don't want to."

I remembered Mom saying that sometimes Josh’s medicine made him cranky. Then I had an idea. "Hang on, Josh," I said. I pushed him down the hallway as fast as I could and popped a wheelie. The nurse scowled, but Josh laughed.

"Do it again," he said. So I did.

Josh finally came home. After school we played trucks and dinosaurs, just like we used to. Sometimes his hospital roommate came over to play.

"Are you getting better?" I asked her.

"I'm in remission," she answered.

"What's that?"

"Sometimes the cancer goes away for a while—maybe forever," she said.

When Josh went back to school, I knew he'd be O.K. "Josh is better, right?" I asked Mom.

"Not exactly," she said. "We tried lots of different medicines, but nothing shrank the tumor."

"But he's home, Mom."

"Yes. . .it's nice to have him here, isn't it?" she said.

Little by little Josh's body got weaker. First he stopped using his left arm. It wouldn't do what he wanted anymore. After that he couldn't climb stairs, and he fell down a lot. Then I couldn't understand what he was saying. Tears filled his eyes when he tried to talk to me.

One morning Mom and Dad were talking with strangers in Josh’s room. I knew he had died. Dad saw me in the doorway. He gathered me in his arms and held me tightly.
"Where are they taking him?" I sobbed.

"To get Josh ready for his funeral. They've promised to take good care of him."

The last time I saw Josh, he was in a fancy box called a coffin, wearing jeans and his Dodgers T-shirt. Dad lifted me up so I could kiss him good-bye, and I put his favorite Tyrannosaurus rex on his chest. “Josh would like that,” said Mom, reaching for my hand.

After the funeral I was afraid I might forget Josh. Mom and Dad said we should plant a tree and watch it grow, like Josh would have grown if he hadn't died. We made a big deal about planting Josh's tree and invited his friends and hospital roommate to come. They each said something nice about Josh. That he was a good baseball player. And he smiled a lot. And he was brave. And he was the best brother, ever, and I miss him.

Josh isn't here anymore, but I like to remember when he was.

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