Mike looked really old. That was what struck me the most. He also had a low frequency tremor. He also had only one useable eye. the other one was all cataracted over.
Portrait of three brothers
No need for Photoshop. My two brothers and I are all in the same place at the same time, for what it’s worth:
I saw absolutely no sign of recognition. He didn’t seem surprised or emotional. He didn’t even respond to the request for “High Five”. In fact after a while, Mike got up from the couch, crossed the room and plopped down on the couch on the other side of the room.
I know that I need to process today’s events some more, but it sure seems that all the years I spent remembering my childhood with Mike, using photography to inspect and look for clues about his behavior, trying to correlate his facial expressions with ambient events in the environment, et cetera, et cetera, was a monumental waste of time. If it looks like a duck, quack likes a duck and walks like a duck, it’s a DUCK. My brother Mike is what he is: a profoundly retarded, autistic, nonverbal individual who has no recognition of his family and displays no feelings or affection.
My brother doesn’t know me from Adam; he doesn’t know my little brother (his little brother) or my mother (his mother) from Adam either. We’re strangers. In fact, we must be annoying strangers, since he got up and left us for the couch across the room.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not surprised.