Mary and I met by phone after she lost her husband Mike and I lost my brother Johnny both from Covid. New York was one of the worst affected states for Coronavirus at the start of the pandemic that tragically impacted Mike and Johnny. Horrific deaths during horrific times. We were shocked from such sudden and unexpected deaths of our loved ones. We wonder if we will ever really heal but we are trying our best with our grieving process.

Mary lives less than 10 minutes from my house. Mike grew up in the same town on Long Island that Johnny and I grew up in. Then Mary told me how much Mike, just as Johnny, loved the Triple Crown — a series of horse races consisting of the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes and the Belmont Stakes. Mike and Johnny very often went to both the Belmont Racetrack and the Belmont Stakes. Mike brought Mary many times and I went with Johnny. Johnny and I lived less than a mile away and could ride our bikes there. Mary said she went with little money to discourage too much betting which I did too. It made me smile. Our Belmont Boys. They were the best of the best. I am hoping they have met in the world beyond this world. It would not surprise me. They are so missed.

Today I have been reading many articles written about Kelsey Grammer’s new book, “Karen, A Brother Remembers.” The author blamed himself for not being able to protect his younger sibling who was murdered, even though it was not rational. He also states “he knows a lot of people who lost their siblings and blame themselves.” I can understand and relate to Mr. Grammer’s history of profound guilt and blame.

I also blame myself for my brother’s Covid death. He was my younger sibling and I always tried to protect him as the oldest. I tried during Covid to take him out of his rehab in his nursing home but it was very complicated since he was on IV antibiotics after surgery. It was so difficult to get IV home care for him around the clock as well as wound care. Did I not try hard enough to protect him? I started worrying about Covid at the end of January 2020 and understood how dangerous this could become. My brother was in the nursing home in mid March 2020 — the worst timing. As a Physical Therapist, I am always concerned about infection control in various facilities during normal times. Could I have done more to save my brother? I was a good advocate for him, but could I have been better? Did I choose the wrong nursing home for him? Can I ever let my guilt go away? I feel like I should have saved him. I am so sorry, Johnny …

When I was a child, in the early 1970s, I wasn’t a typical child. I was diagnosed with ADHD. My school felt I shouldn’t be seen or heard. Yet my mom advocated for me and eventually I was allowed in a classroom setting. Certain family members had little to no patience with me. They didn’t realize that I had trouble dealing with the world around me, but my mom defended me. Now, I didn’t get away with everything. My mom held me accountable and didn’t allow me to use ADHD as an excuse. Over time, my mom and I found ways to deal with my ADHD and I earned 2 Masters Degrees, but none of it happens without my mom giving me a foundation to stand on.

I love you mom … I miss you and I thank God for you.

These stanzas are drawn from a longer poem, titled “Park Slope Pastoral,” which is part of Lisa Smid’s forthcoming collection, “Twenty.”

If I can just get back to this field and the unhiding city
surrounding it, I can look for you in the air, I can find you in
the wind, I can feel you in the fluctuating heat.

I want not the guardian, the scribe, the recorder, the
preserver, the worker, the man of the city, the man of the
people, the hero. Not the officer and the gentleman, but the
kindred soul who walked the world with me, who smiled
without a face, who trekked the plains of his own living
dream song and kissed me at the right stop.

The hardest day of my life was when I called my 90-year-old mother to tell her that her son Johnny died of Covid on a ventilator. It was the day he originally was scheduled to come home from short term rehabilitation following surgery. I helped Johnny when he was in the hospital and in the rehab facility. There are no words for how heart wrenching this was for me to see my mother’s grief and despair. I had to be strong for her. Many rallied around my grieving mother and I was grateful. My grief was put aside and overlooked since I had to help my disabled mother who no longer had her caregiver, my brother. Johnny did not have a partner and I had so much to do to arrange everything one must do with the loss of a loved one. It was so challenging as it was the beginning of the Pandemic. So much was needed to be done to settle his affairs. It took a very long time to sort it all out.

Now my 95-year-old mother is in a nursing home and she has moderate dementia. She now thinks my brother is still alive. She asks me how he is doing and I carry out some benign fibbing. I go along with her that Johnny is still alive and well. I am relieved she does not suffer as she once did. Now, after 5 years, I feel like I can grieve without feeling guilty. I can start focusing more on myself. So much grief I delayed. I had to focus on my mother. She is still alive and at peace now. I am relieved. I now have to find my peace in all this. I hope I find it as I am trying. I believe I must really start this hard work.