Last Rites / Anointing of the Sick

This is a beautiful story by Aimee Milburn of Historical Christian, regarding her brother Mark, his death, and how the Catholic Sacrament of "Last Rites" played such a vital role in both of their lives. In her own words she writes the following:

Mark was born just 17 months ahead of me, and we grew up together, one grade apart in school. We fought like cats and dogs when we were little, but by the time we got into high school we realized we could be allies against mom and dad, and became friends.

It was a pretty free-wheeling time, the sexual revolution was in full swing, and I decided I was a liberated feminist, and my brother decided he was gay. We both embarked on our respective free-wheeling lifestyles, my brother plunging into the gay lifestyle. We traded stories with each other, commiserated about relationships, went dancing together when we got old enough to get into clubs, and traveled together. We really had some adventures, and I loved my brother dearly.

This was before anybody had heard of AIDS, but within a few years we did hear about it. And one Christmas afternoon I received a phone call I will never forget: my brother, telling me he had contracted the virus. I was 25. I knew my brother had just received a death sentence. I cried that night like I’d never cried before.

As it turns out, my brother was a long-term survivor, lived 15 years with the disease. During those years I lived in different parts of the country, but we stayed in touch, carried on long talks on the phone, and always sent each other $20 on our birthdays. One year I received a $20 bill on which he had written, “This is the $20 bill we always exchange on our birthdays.” I kept it, still have it packed away somewhere.

I always told my brother during those years that if he really got sick and it looked like the end was coming, I’d move back and help him, and be with him when he died. He managed to stay somewhat healthy for several years, with the help of drugs and good diet, but gradually he declined. He went on full disability for a few more years, but hated it, so developed hobbies to stay busy. He turned his entire front yard into a flower garden, filling it with rose bushes and giant sunflowers and all kinds of other flowers. He filled his apartment with plants and aquariums.

Finally, one day I got a call from my parents that Mark had gone into a real decline, and it wasn’t clear how long he would last. I was living in Seattle, a place I loved with a job and a community I loved, but I resigned the job and moved back home, to help my brother and be with him when he died, as I always said I would.

Continue reading "The Death of my Brother, and Hope" »