i'm sorry, but your brother has died

Those were the words the nurse had for me when I answered the phone.

I had just been on a call with Smitty, prior to my planned visit to Ronnie today.

Smitty told me he would have to call me back, Mary had fallen and he was on his way to Candler Hospital to be with her.

He had visited Ronnie this morning then went to run some errands, while Mary went out to Christy's house, where she got busy helping her tidy up and fell.

So, like I said, when my phone rang at 1:30 PM, I figured it would be him.

Then I saw the phone number.

It was one of those for Memorial.

And then Alycia, again Ronnie's nurse, told me those words...

and time slowed and swirled as my world forever changed.

Damn.

I had called Smitty to tell him the news; he was going to be at Candler for a while, they didn't yet know what Mary had broken, but he would call Tony and let him know.

Then I called Michael and I called Christina and asked that they let their Mom know.

After I'd pulled myself together a bit, I headed out to the hospital.

Alycia had said we could come and see him in his room, if we wanted, so I had let all know, but, in the end, I was the only one who did.

I stayed almost two hours, talking to him one more time, then gathered up the shorts and glasses and water bottle, and went to the nurses' station to release the room.

Alycia asked me if we had arranged for a funeral home yet.

No, no we had not.

So she sat down to help me, looking up phone numbers for the two I knew of: Families First and Gamble.

Then I called Families First and spoke to CJ and decided immediately to use them.

Alycia helped me fill out the paperwork to release Ronnie's body to them, the single page of paperwork required for that action.

Seems like there would be more, right?

Then I left.

I made it as far as the lobby on that floor.

The paintings of children playing caught me, as they have over this past week, bringing to mind happy memories of us Smith kids when we were so much younger.

This one particularly struck me: two skinny little boys, one slightly older and taller than the other, leaping and playing at the ocean's edge.

That could have been painted of Smitty and Ronnie, back in 1968, when Tony was just a baby and the two boys were inseparable.

I have a photo from that year, somewhere, of them both cutting up, holding their arms up like wrestlers, their ribcages clearly discernible on their skinny chests.

Now, the younger brother was dead of lung cancer.

Damn.

I went home, sent emails to family and friends, posted a photo from 2015 on facebook to let folks there know, and started on the paperwork for Families First.

That seemed to go on and on and on, pages and pages and pages, asking for decisions NOW about what casket or body container, what ashes container, what souvenirs of the cremation, what funeral service, how many copies of the death certificate.

Seriously.

I was utterly overwhelmed.

Finally, I finished it, about twenty minutes ago.

Now, I've opened up the only bottle of beer in the fridge: a Guinness Stout that's been aging since March last year.

I'm going to have the first sip, then pour a little out for the brother who isn't here anymore, and cue up a movie that I know he would enjoy.

"Trailer Park Boys: The Movie" promises to have the plenty of the hard-drinking, dope-smoking, girl-chasing rednecks that he was proud to be among.

Damn.

I sure would rather he be here in person, laughing at them with me.

Damn.