Brother of Mine

My siblings and I, and our offspring during Raya 2006

My only brother and youngest sibling celebrated his 26th birthday last week, on Saturday. I had wanted to write a piece about him then, but due to time constraints and other pressing issues, it had been put on the backburner.

Now that I’ve found some footing on my new (but thankfully temporary) environment, the time is ripe to bring my brother into the limelight.

Born on April 14th in 1981, Shol is the apple of my parents’ eye, particularly my mom who incessantly dotes on him. At the time of his birth, my mother suffered a labor complication owing to a placenta previa condition. According to her account, Shol came out of the womb looking blue and weak. He was immediately rushed to an incubator for life support and further observation. The doctor painted my parents a grim picture. It’s 50-50. Fervently wishing for a son, my father was devastated at the prognosis. So much so that he went to perform prayers and other supplications at five (maybe more) different mosques the following day to seek Allah’s succor and intervention.

Back at the ward room, my mom recounted the times she expressed her milk to be given to my baby brother in the incubator, the quantity of which was too much that the nurses resorted to giving the remainder to other babies in the same predicament.

After a few grueling days in the hospital, the pediatrician issued the green slip to leave. However, my brother must come again for routine check-ups of his physical progress and motor skills. I remember accompanying my mom to these ‘physical therapy’ sessions where a specialist worked my mom through a set of limb exercises with my brother. From behind the door, I could at times hear him cry or squeal.

The precarious nature in which my brother was born affected his speech during the growing-up years. He has the tendency to stutter. My mother was initially concerned that he might be ridiculed at school due to this speech impediment. Surprisingly, he developed a healthy self-esteem and engaged in many extra-curricular activities, chief of which was the marching band.

Yes, unlike me, Shol is musically inclined. Like my father, he can play a song by the ears. In other words, after hearing a favourite song being crooned, his magic, nimble fingers easily find their way on the white ivories and hit the right notes every single time.

After finishing high school and entering the university, Shol’s stuttering had somewhat lessened and it’s only noticeable when he’s nervous, angry or worked up over something. You could call it one of life’s ironies but to me it’s simply a miracle of God that he could recite Al-Quran flawlessly and mellifluously without even a hint of stammering. My brother also frequents the mosques/suraus and even makes a point to commit some long Surahs to memory.

Though I never exactly utter the words, I am proud of his multi-faceted talents. As siblings, we rarely do communicate our feelings about one another in this ‘mushy’ manner. People might say it’s a given that you take pride in your siblings’ line of achievements but I believe emoting those praises would do the receiver a lot of good.

Never had emotions and pride collided in its most treacherous currents than in May 2005. My brother was diagnosed with acute kidney failure that consequently rendered dialysis as his only viable solution (there’s an option for a transplant but that’s another long story). Denial seeped through his system at first but eventually he came around to accept the harsh reality. The fateful incident during which he was bedridden and linked to an oxygen mask is still fresh in my mind. Every time I recall the painful episode, I'm overcome with emotions. He was 24 at the time. So young, so full of life, so wide-eyed.

As mere mortals, it’d be easier to ask “Why him?,” instead of reaching out for that silver lining, no matter how elusive and faint it may be at present. I already touched upon this particular point here. When we firmly believe everything happens for a reason as decreed by God, come what may, we will remain faithful and persevere. On that note (no pun intended), I’m confident my baby brother – the virtuoso performer – will be fine as he is constantly surrounded by a wide circle of family, friends and acquaintances that love and treasure him.