By KIMBERLY HEFLING
The Associated Press
WOODLYN, Pa. - For years, Pisey Tan and his kid brother, Dara, had barely spoken to each other. Each had gone his separate way , Pisey into the Army, Dara off to college.
Today they share a home and are as close as two brothers can be, reunited by a roadside bombing in Iraq in 2004 that left Pisey's legs bandaged stubs.
It's been a long, agonizing three years. Dara, now 22, has carried, pushed, picked up, encouraged and sometimes fought with his brother, who has learned to walk with ease on prosthetic legs.
"He thinks I'm a psychopath maniac sometimes and I think he's a stubborn hardheaded dude sometimes," says Pisey, four years the elder. "It's brotherly love though."
As he regained consciousness at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Pisey's thoughts turned to his mother. How would he let her know he had lost his legs?
As a war refugee from Cambodia who had come to the United States as a teenager, she had endured a lot and he didn't want to upset her.
"I thought I was just going to keep it low-key and just disappear off the radar, don't even mention it to my mother," he says.
But, he would learn, brother Dara had already intervened. In a three-way conference call with an Army official, Dara had translated the horrible news for his mother.
Soon, Pisey had a new and even bigger worry: what would happen to him.
"We heard about how the people treated the people that went to Vietnam ... All that stuff went through my head and I was like, 'What am I going to do now? How am I going to live? Who is going to take care of me?'"
The answer, he discovered, was Dara.
While Pisey had joined the Army at age 21 looking for direction, Dara had headed off to study at Penn State University's Abington campus. Dara didn't think twice about dropping out so he could move into Walter Reed for nearly a year to help his brother.
"He's family," Dara says. "It's a given."
Early on, it was very hard. Before Pisey regained consciousness, Dara would start crying each time he walked into his injured brother's hospital room.
After a while, they settled into a routine.
It helped that Dara , his brother affectionally calls him a "freak" , is a very big guy at 6-foot-4, 340 pounds. He had no problem lifting Pisey, who is 100 pounds lighter.
By the end of his stay at Walter Reed, Pisey says he had become the envy of other patients.
"That was the fastest way I could get things done. My brother pushing me around in my wheelchair," Pisey says. "My brother was like the biggest key when I was there because he would have to go do some of the things that I couldn't do, like run to buildings, getting papers signed and stuff like that."
Dara did other little things. He would hit the streets of Washington at 3 o'clock in the morning to satisfy his brother's craving for McDonald's.
Accepting the help wasn't always easy.
"I felt pretty low and always, like, sad ... having to depend on my brother," Pisey says. "There were days I felt embarrassed."
Pisey had been away from home for so long, the brothers had hardly spoken in years and kept in touch mostly through their mother.
"He had to get to know me fast," Pisey says.
When the two moved in with their mother in North Philadelphia, there were new challenges. The two-story row house could not handle Pisey's wheelchair and he was still learning to use his prosthetic legs.
Many nights, Dara carried his brother piggyback-style up the stairs to his bedroom.
On the day Pisey started suffering sharp kidney pain, Dara carried him to the ambulance.
When Pisey fell learning to walk Philadelphia's uneven streets with his prosthetic legs, or on one occasion trying to get a bus, Dara picked him up.
Without Dara, "I would have been screwed, basically," Pisey says.
Dara would help when he had to, but he would not baby his brother as he learned to walk, drive a car with hand controls and relearn other tasks.
"My brother knows what I can and cannot do," Pisey says.
In December, life got easier. Pisey was given a custom-built two-story home in Philadelphia's suburbs by a nonprofit group, Homes for Our Troops, which had teamed with a builder, The McKee Group.
With its wide doorways and wheelchair-accessible shower, Pisey no longer needs Dara at his side.
But he wanted his brother to stay close, so Dara moved in upstairs.
"He's there for me and I'm always there for him," Pisey says. "It's the least I can do after everything that he's done for me."
They spend their days hanging out, playing video games, working on their cars, heading down to the neighborhood Italian deli to buy sandwiches.
They do have their differences.
Dara likes to throw his clothes on his bedroom floor. Pisey keeps his room tidy, with military precision.
"That's one of the things my brother doesn't like about me," Pisey says.
No matter, Dara is glad to be around and happy to help.
"I don't think of it as time wasted or anything," he says. "Everything turned out pretty good for him."
The brothers are thinking about the future. Pisey, who is still receives regular therapy, hopes to go to college to study to be a high school history teacher. Dara plans to train to be a mechanic.
For now, they are still enjoying being brothers again.
"We're a bunch of old young kids," Pisey says.
Today they share a home and are as close as two brothers can be, reunited by a roadside bombing in Iraq in 2004 that left Pisey's legs bandaged stubs.
It's been a long, agonizing three years. Dara, now 22, has carried, pushed, picked up, encouraged and sometimes fought with his brother, who has learned to walk with ease on prosthetic legs.
"He thinks I'm a psychopath maniac sometimes and I think he's a stubborn hardheaded dude sometimes," says Pisey, four years the elder. "It's brotherly love though."
As he regained consciousness at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Pisey's thoughts turned to his mother. How would he let her know he had lost his legs?
As a war refugee from Cambodia who had come to the United States as a teenager, she had endured a lot and he didn't want to upset her.
"I thought I was just going to keep it low-key and just disappear off the radar, don't even mention it to my mother," he says.
But, he would learn, brother Dara had already intervened. In a three-way conference call with an Army official, Dara had translated the horrible news for his mother.
Soon, Pisey had a new and even bigger worry: what would happen to him.
"We heard about how the people treated the people that went to Vietnam ... All that stuff went through my head and I was like, 'What am I going to do now? How am I going to live? Who is going to take care of me?'"
The answer, he discovered, was Dara.
While Pisey had joined the Army at age 21 looking for direction, Dara had headed off to study at Penn State University's Abington campus. Dara didn't think twice about dropping out so he could move into Walter Reed for nearly a year to help his brother.
"He's family," Dara says. "It's a given."
Early on, it was very hard. Before Pisey regained consciousness, Dara would start crying each time he walked into his injured brother's hospital room.
After a while, they settled into a routine.
It helped that Dara , his brother affectionally calls him a "freak" , is a very big guy at 6-foot-4, 340 pounds. He had no problem lifting Pisey, who is 100 pounds lighter.
By the end of his stay at Walter Reed, Pisey says he had become the envy of other patients.
"That was the fastest way I could get things done. My brother pushing me around in my wheelchair," Pisey says. "My brother was like the biggest key when I was there because he would have to go do some of the things that I couldn't do, like run to buildings, getting papers signed and stuff like that."
Dara did other little things. He would hit the streets of Washington at 3 o'clock in the morning to satisfy his brother's craving for McDonald's.
Accepting the help wasn't always easy.
"I felt pretty low and always, like, sad ... having to depend on my brother," Pisey says. "There were days I felt embarrassed."
Pisey had been away from home for so long, the brothers had hardly spoken in years and kept in touch mostly through their mother.
"He had to get to know me fast," Pisey says.
When the two moved in with their mother in North Philadelphia, there were new challenges. The two-story row house could not handle Pisey's wheelchair and he was still learning to use his prosthetic legs.
Many nights, Dara carried his brother piggyback-style up the stairs to his bedroom.
On the day Pisey started suffering sharp kidney pain, Dara carried him to the ambulance.
When Pisey fell learning to walk Philadelphia's uneven streets with his prosthetic legs, or on one occasion trying to get a bus, Dara picked him up.
Without Dara, "I would have been screwed, basically," Pisey says.
Dara would help when he had to, but he would not baby his brother as he learned to walk, drive a car with hand controls and relearn other tasks.
"My brother knows what I can and cannot do," Pisey says.
In December, life got easier. Pisey was given a custom-built two-story home in Philadelphia's suburbs by a nonprofit group, Homes for Our Troops, which had teamed with a builder, The McKee Group.
With its wide doorways and wheelchair-accessible shower, Pisey no longer needs Dara at his side.
But he wanted his brother to stay close, so Dara moved in upstairs.
"He's there for me and I'm always there for him," Pisey says. "It's the least I can do after everything that he's done for me."
They spend their days hanging out, playing video games, working on their cars, heading down to the neighborhood Italian deli to buy sandwiches.
They do have their differences.
Dara likes to throw his clothes on his bedroom floor. Pisey keeps his room tidy, with military precision.
"That's one of the things my brother doesn't like about me," Pisey says.
No matter, Dara is glad to be around and happy to help.
"I don't think of it as time wasted or anything," he says. "Everything turned out pretty good for him."
The brothers are thinking about the future. Pisey, who is still receives regular therapy, hopes to go to college to study to be a high school history teacher. Dara plans to train to be a mechanic.
For now, they are still enjoying being brothers again.
"We're a bunch of old young kids," Pisey says.
5 comments:
Family is everything.
no, youn's pussy is everything
From 1:26
To 3:03 AM
Hopefully your dick falls off from fucking too many HIV positive Hookers.
LOL
then HIV vaccines will be everything won't they?
Sure, until the virus transmuted and adapt to survive in water to infect our aquatic food supply. Don't forget, HIV/AIDS infected people share the same sewage as the rest of us, which often leak to the river, lake, and ocean. The longer the virus live, the most like likely it will find a way to adopt to all environments. It is a matter of time.
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