Judah at 39

When Judah and I were little, we used to celebrate our birthdays together at my grandparents' house in Westport, New York. Although we are 3 years apart, our birthdays were only 8 days apart. The annual county fair was always held around this time of year, and we'd beg to go for as many days as our parents could tolerate unsafe rides, toothless carnies and demolition derbies. Judah was an exceptionally graceful kid. He was very tall, thin, handsome and he could run as fast as jackrabbit. There were other kids around for the summer in Westport, and Judah was always the first to make friends with them. I used to think that if I wore the same style sneakers as him (Keds NBAs), I could run as fast as him. Never mind that I was always three inches shorter than him and 30 pounds "healthier."
His birthdays back then were usually uncomfortably hot days. Mom would show up with a cake that had some particular theme acted out on top by small plastic figurines and sugar lump landscapes. One year it was cowboys and Indians, another year it was a baseball game. No matter what cake he got, I was jealous and wished it for myself. If, just one week earlier, I had an elaborate cake of dinosaurs and cavemen, I'd wish I had his racing cars and astronauts. He was just cooler. Sportier. His life seemed easier.
There reached a time when I got cooler, sportier and taller. He was always gracious about losing the height wars with me, but he seemed to be bitter about the hair issue. Still, he always kept an older brother's pride in me. Judah is so much my rock. He is my dictionary. My encyclopedia. My doctor, my lawyer, my rabbi, my friend. My brother.
It's overwhelming to now be the one who watches over him, helplessly, as he fights some internal battle just to stay alive.
Alissa and I were much closer in age, and Judah felt left out. He confided in me that he longed for the intimate bond that similar aged siblings seem to share. It was an imagined condition. During Judah's long illness, we've spent infinite hours just sitting with each other. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. We've become close again, narrowing the three year gap between us.
Now, the staff who do not yet know us often ask me who is older. I take gentle umbrage.
I can't say that Judah looks great today. He is gaunt and immobile. His nurse tells me that he has had a fever during the night. His oxygen concentration is high again, now at 50%. Still, it's our privilege to celebrate his birthday today. For me, it's my 36th time with him. He has all of what it means to be loved surrounding him, lifting up the battle axes inside of him and plowing through whatever is hurting him. Let's hope for a more wonderful year than the past one.