Does the sadness ever leave?

I am one of 2, 3, or 4 children depending on how you look at it. Two from my parents, three if you include my half brother, four if you include my step sister.
Today is the 22nd anniversary of my brother Ryan's birth. He has been dead for almost 16 years now. I used to forget his birthday and then a week or so later remember it and get depressed because I was forgetting him. Like me marking his birthday somehow made him still alive. At least a little bit. I'll probably never forget it again since Piglet's birthday is the day before now.

The problem is that he never truly was alive. Ryan was born with sever Hydrocephalus. Severe enough that his brain never fully developed. He only had a complete brain stem. Everything else was damaged.

When I was a kid a lot of my poetry and writing focused on the hope that Ryan would get better. My parents never explained to us that Ryan was in a permanant vegatative state. We knew that he was deaf and blind. We knew he couldn't sit up, roll over, hold his own head, walk, etc. We knew that he was mentally 9 months old. But kids don't get it. We had hope. False hope. I get all reminiscent whenever I see an IV pole. Ryan had a G-tube to eat. We had to hook it up to an iv bag and put Ensure in it. He had every sort of seizure and was on STRONG medicine to control them. I learned how to crush pills with two spoons and put them in the iv bag at 10 years old. I bet I can still change a G-tube

The day that Ryan was born I came home from school to find my house empty. Luckily my grandparents lived right up the street. So I walked there and waited to hear the news about the new baby. I didn't know if it was a girl or boy or two babies. I don't remember well but I think we were expecting twins. Late at night we got the bad news. Something was wrong with the baby. He looked like an alien. His head was the size of a soccer ball. Daddy cried. The baby was gonna die.

Then a week passed and the baby didn't die. The doctors gave him a month. Then 3 months. Surely he would be dead before a year passed. My family spent the next six years on a death watch. Just waiting for Ryan to die. He just got bigger and bigger but never changed. The only sound he ever made was Da-da-da-da-da. He knew my father's scent. He knew the second my Dad walked into a room and he would just giggle over and over.

In the beginning he did make progress. I remember feeding him babyfood and even small bits of meat. I remember my step-sister and I teaching him little cheers. I remember teaching him the sign language for Ryan. That was somethng he retained even after he became a vegatable. He would sign R-Y-A-N often.

The day that he was born was one of the saddest days of my life. The day that he died was one too. But also a great releif. I lost more than my brother that day. I lost my sister too. It has only been through great effort on our part that we have stayed in touch. I haven't seen her now in 2 years. I haven't seen my father in 1.

I miss you little brother. I miss who you could have been and the life you could have lived. Whenever I see people your age I am blown away by the thought that I should have had a brother that age.