Rest in Peace

CHRISTOPHER EDWARD JOSEPH ENGLISH

JULY 11, 1967-DECEMBER 31, 2001

REST IN PEACE

You're packing a suitcase for a place none of has been/
A place that has to be believed to be seen/
You could have flown away/
A singing bird in open cage/
Who will only fly, only fly for freedom

That's U2, from a song called Walk On.

Life and Death are only temporary, but freedom goes on forever.

That's my brother, written on a piece of paper I found with his stuff within the past couple of months.

Christopher Edward English. I have always liked that name. While most people called him Chris, I called him Christopher or Chris, interchangeably. When I was a little boy, Christopher proved too difficult to say, so I settled on Key-foo. Luckily, that didn't survive too long.

Christopher Edward English. I have known him for all his life, and lived with him for most of it, and I am not sure if I knew him that well at all, except for very recently.

But all I can really do is remember some things over the course of a lifetime.

The first memory I have of him is in a stroller, on a trip to Florida. He was crying. When I was really young, all I thought he did was cry. I was wrong.

I remember when the family first thought he had epilepsy in 1968; I remember being really sad as he went up the elevator in the hospital, with gunk in his hair from the EEG test. I didn't know if I would see him again. I remember that our parents used to always get us the same exact toys for Christmas; we were, after all, only two years apart. I remember the two Parkomatic garages we got for our matchbox cars, and the identical toy buses. We did not always get the same toys; one Christmas, we got action figures--one had a beard, and one did not. We called the bearded one Old Action Jackson, and the unbearded one Young Action Jackson. Chris was, of course, Young Action Jackson.

I remember the first time Christopher and I were going to go to Manhattan with our parents. We were very excited and a little scared. So we invented a series of martial arts moves we called the "Techniques," just in case... .

Chris and I, like many brothers, had what was often a contentious relationship. In other words, we fought. We did not fight physically too much, though I remember one of us chipping the other's tooth. A friend's first memory of the both of us is me saying, "shut up, Chris," and Christopher replying with a word I cannot repeat directed at me. In later years, we mainly had what I would call friendly debates on issues of the day!

Especially at this time of year, I have a lot of memories. I remember the first real Christmas tree we got. Our Mom had passed away the year before, and it looked like we might not celebrate Christmas. He would have none of it. We found a beautiful Douglas fir and put it up on Christmas Eve. In fact, this year, after many years of searching, I found a douglas fir again.

I now call it Chris' tree.

There are other things.

There was his sense of humor, and unique wit, and no bitterness. It was amazing to see, especially during the course of his illnesses. Three years ago, he had major brain surgery. Less than an hour after the surgery, my grandmother and I visited him in the recovery room. He cracked a couple of jokes; I told him that he was funnier than before, and, not missing a beat, he said: "Tommy, I'm just more polished!"

Three months ago, the night before he fell into his coma, and he had become a little unreactive, he was laying in his bed, with that little urinal thing they give you in the hospital so you don't have to get up to go to the bathroom. I was a little worried, and he told me, "Don't worry, Tommy, it's pointing in the right direction!!"

Heck, his sense of humor continued when he was the sickest. A week after he had fallen asleep, it looked like he was waking up. We were able to communicate by him clasping my hand after I asked him a Yes or No question. I asked him if he loved Nanny; he clasped my hand, very hard. I asked him if he loved his Uncle Bobby; he clasped my hand again. I felt very good. I asked him if he loved me. No clasp. I asked him if he wanted me to bring him some CDs the next day. Another clasp. You figure it out; I swear I felt him laughing, though I couldn't see it. What has been called a chuckle in the darkness.

Christopher Edward English. In many ways, I did not know him at all until his last illness. Though we could not talk to each other, I know we communicated. His Will was intense, and his Spirit was resilient. At times, even his doctors were amazed. He was his most inspirational to me.

He adored his Mom and his Grandmother.

I miss him very much, more than I can say, and to say does not even begin to do him justice.

There is a bible verse that has given me solace. It is at the end of the Gospel of Matthew, after Jesus has told the gathered Apostles what they must do after he leaves them. In this passage, Jesus is talking about Himself, but I have always liked to think it applies to anyone who has left us:

And know that I am with you always, until the end of the world!

I know that Chris is with me, always, he is free, in a place that has to be believed to be seen, and the Mets are always in the World Series.

Thank you.