My Brother

Born in a place full of pain,

You came to live with me,

I begged my folks to adopt you,

I wanted you as family.

                You had a bag on your tummy,

That got filled up with poo,

Despite all that and more,

I still loved you.

                We were watching T.V. one day,

My arms around you tight,

Then for some strange reason,

You started to scream and fight.

                I called for our daddy,

He placed his hand around your bag,

Whenever he got close,

You would scream like mad.

                Then he called the doctor,

To find out what was wrong,

You needed a second bag,

The first didn’t work for long.

                When you came back from the hospital,

I had to be extra careful with you,

You now had two bags on your tummy,

But only one would fill with poo.

                The doctor told our parents,

You would be fixed like new,

But we had to wait,

Until shortly after you were two.

                Then you turned two,

And you had to go back in,

I stayed at home,

I was only nine then.

                Something awoke me that night,

I didn’t know what,

I started to pray for you,

They were operating on your gut.

                Something still felt wrong,

My prayers turned to tears,

I wanted you to stay alive,

For a great many more years.

                My dad opened my door,

Said, “Stephanie, Shawn’s dead.”

Then he closed my door,

Nothing else could be said.

                My heart was broken in pieces,

You were only two,

You were my first death,

I didn’t know what to do.

                We buried you that Saturday,

It was snowing outside,

I went to your funeral,

All I wanted was you alive.

                Christmas was awkward,

You had died not long before,

I didn’t want presents,

I wanted my baby brother more.

In memory of my brother, Shawn Frederick Stanton Weeks. Died at age two before Christmas.

The two bags on his tummy were colostomy bags. They were attached to his colon from the outside.