The phone just rang. I answered. It was an acquaintance of my Dad’s. He says to me “Little Brian died.” I said I’d let my Dad know. Then I asked who Little Brian was. “Is he the Brian with the beard who worked with my Dad sometimes at the building? The man replied “yes”. I said I know Brian. He and my Dad are great friends. My chest heaved.
He went on explaining how he had been found in his room, that he had been dead for four or five days before they found him.
Brian didn’t have many people in his life. He had his drinking buddies. He had my Dad. Last month Brian had lost so much weight. The doctors hadn’t given him his prescription for Ensure. He had been starving. My Dad fed him. Ah my Dad is going to be so sad. He drove Brian a couple of weeks ago to the doctor to get that damn prescription and then drove him to the druggist to fill the prescription written for six cases of Ensure. Brian had trouble eating and only had one lung. He was an alcoholic.
I know what it feels like to be hungry and not be able to eat normal foods from having Chron’s disease 10 years ago and from recovering from addiction 2 years ago. And the only damn thing that you can keep down is Ensure.
I miss Brian now. My Dad is going to be heartbrokenâ€¦ They got together once or twice a week to work or go yardsalin’.
Wherever you are Brian you will remembered for your laughter, smile and frank eccentric way of living. The Doyle’s love you.