My Brother: Part 2...

You must have been in a place so dark, you couldn't feel the light
Reachin' for you through that stormy cloud
Now here we are gathered in our little home town
This can't be the way you meant to draw a crowd

Oh, why?
That's what I keep askin'
Was there anything I could have said or done?
Oh, I had no clue you were maskin' a troubled soul
God only knows what went wrong
And why you would leave the stage in the middle of a song
("Why" by Rascal Flatts)


It's funny how bringing a life into the world makes you evaluate and appreciate everything in a different light.  My kids make me think about things with such different mentality.  I re-visit my own childhood and remember the good things that I want to recreate for Brady and Brooklyn. 


I think about the relationship I had with my own siblings.  Oil and water.  I think that's the best way to describe it.  Donita and I were far enough apart that our relationship didn't really develop until we were all that was left for each other.  From what I remember, DJ and I were like Tom and Jerry.  We had moments when we could kill each other, but were always the first to jump to the others' defense. We played outside together riding bikes, playing in the creek, making mud puddles, destroying things we probably shouldn't have, fighting over the TV channel, throwing things at each other...you know, typical sibling rivalry.  


As we got older, obviously our relationship changed.  I started middle school, liking boys and he was now "the little brother" that was always around.  Bugging me when I friends over, irritating me when I was on the phone with Chad and just trying to piss me off.  At least that's how I saw it then.  I'd give anything for him to piss me off now.


Once he started middle school and I got my first job(s), we didn't relate much anymore.  He played football.  I remember sitting along Middle Street watching practice with mom and Sally Whitener.  I didn't know him much anymore.  He was changing and so was I.  We drifted apart, but he was still my brother and I would've been the first to jump to his defense.  


Oh, why?
There's no comprehending
And who am I to try to judge or explain?
Oh, but I do have one burning question:
Who told you life wasn't worth the fight?
They were wrong
They lied
And now you're gone
And we cry

'Cause it's not like you to walk away in the middle of a song


I may not have been spending every waking minute with him, but I still felt like he was there if I needed him and he knew I was there for him.  We just didn't NEED each other anymore.  At least that's what I thought.  Little did I know that he was just starting to struggle with life.  Middle school and high school can be hard for girls, but it can be just as trying for boys.  From the outside, he was the happiest most care-free person you'd meet.  The big dork was even on the cover of the local newspaper his senior year for riding our tractor to school with some of his friends.  His was just quirky like that.


I got married, he went to college.  I could tell he was changing.  He liked to be the life of the party and became a real "John Deere" kind of guy.  Cut off jeans with cowboy boots.  Plaid shirts with the sleeves ripped off.  Hat hair all the time.  His friends were an interesting crowd.  Some were good to him, some took his generosity for granted.  He worked random jobs while at school, liked to go mudding and have a beer in the evening.  Through all this freedom, he would've been at my side if I'd ever needed him.  What a great man.


Your beautiful song
Your absolutely beautiful song


He finished school, moved back to Farmigton and worked at a trucking company.  He was still looking for his calling and experimenting with life as he tried to figure it out.  


Then mom got sick.  He made the daily trips with us for 6 weeks before she passed.  He was never the same again.  He blamed himself.  As we all carried some guilt.  I guess children just do that no matter their age.  Those 2 years after mom died, he really struggled.  He withdrew from us.  He tried to look and act the part.  I could feel something wasn't right.  I knew it, but I thought he was grieving and would eventually find his way without interference from me.  I thought if I asked too much, he would completely disappear.  So I never asked.  What a mistake.  


I remember one day he came to St. Louis and we went shopping for new clothes and a haircut for him.  I thought he was "coming out of the gray" and wanting to put himself back together.  I see now, he was trying to mask his pain and recreate what he thought we wanted.  We spent much of the afternoon together (with the girl he was seeing at the time) had lunch, bought some clothes, found our childhood dining table at Goodwill (which he bought for his new rental house).  It was a good day.  I thought he was back.  I chose to believe he was back.  


He called when he got home that evening to let me know he made it, he loved me and that he had enjoyed the day just getting to spend time with me.  I could still feel "it".  Something wasn't right in his voice.  


So I asked, "DJ, are you happy?"...there was a pause and then he replied, "I'm working on it."  


He had said enough to satisfy me.  It was close enough that I wouldn't push anymore.  I just made sure he knew that we wanted him to be happy, no matter what that meant for him.  What a cry for help, as I hear it now in my head.  The biggest regret I have is accepting that answer and choosing to believe he was OK. 

Now the oak trees are swayin' in the early autumn breeze
A golden sun is shining on my face
Through tangled thoughts I hear, a mockingbird sing
This old world really ain't that bad a place


Fast forward about a year...Three Rivers Cemetery on a sunny April morning.  Standing, staring at a powder blue casket surrounded by people and not seeing any of them.  I felt like such a failure.  I had let him down and now there's nothing I could do about it.  I don't know how long I stood there after the service was over as people began to leave, but I remember finally stepping up to his casket, kissing it and saying my final words to him...


..."I hope you found what you were looking for.  I hope you're happy now"...


Now, I see my own son and think about how much Uncle DJ would love hanging out with him.  He is so happy-go-lucky like DJ.  He loves to play with anything that has wheels and they would've been the best buddies.  And Brooklyn would've been a spoiled princess.  He would've loved them.  He DOES love them.   And he loves me, he doesn't blame me and I'm working on not blaming me either.