My Brother, Dave

It was an evening in late June.  My husband was out of town on business and my daughter was home from UCLA for the summer.  When Dick went out of town, usually to LA, our routine was to watch movies while we cuddled in my bed.  Our favorites were Shirley Temple movies which we watched while we slowly fell asleep.

In what I thought was a dream somewhere off in the distance I could hear a phone ringing.  As I woke there was an urgency about it.   Late night phone calls always alarmed me fearing something happening to my parents who lived in Wisconsin.  I reached for the phone on my nightstand and quickly put it to my ear.

            “Auntie!”  My niece’s voice screamed!  “Auntie! Dad is dead!”

`           Her words shocked me awake.  I shouted back, “What?  Whose Dad?”

            “My dad, your brother!  He is dead, Auntie.  Dad is dead!” 

            I handed the phone to Leslie who was now awake.

            “Honey, it’s Dawn.”

            I have no idea how I got on the plane.  Vaguely I remember my daughter calling her dad to tell him about my brother.  I vaguely remember her calling the airliner for the earliest possible flight, and I vaguely remember her packing some clothes for me and driving me to the airport.  I remember her taking care of my luggage and taking me into the plane helping me find my seat.   I was numb as I looked out the window, hearing somewhere in the background the song, “I’ll Be Seeing You.”  I finally started to cry.  A woman sitting next to me gently took my hand and held it.

            “My brother is gone,” is all I said.

            She continued to held my hand until the stewardess came and asked if I wanted some coffee or anything.  I shook my head no.

            Staring out of the window I thought of Dave’s cute round face, his large brown eyes and his long eyelashes that I always thought should have been mine.  I thought of his silly button nose and his beautiful white teeth he flashed with every smile.  I could hear his husky voice  and even huskier laugh that pleased him because he claimed to sound just like Louis Armstrong.  He was warm and affectionate, and had a sensitivity few men had.  Everyone seemed to love him, and I had often thought that he was just too damned good for this life.

            To say we were close siblings was definitely an understatement.  We fought like hell and loved each other like hell.  He was determined to protect me from any peril life presented, but this protectionist drive got in my way at times, especially when he came to boys.

            In turn, I was always there to console him whenever life presented its peril, especially when a girl turned him down for a date or especially when the Green Packers lost a game.  I was always so proud watching him show cattle, the thing I think he truly loved most except for his family.

            “Mama, tell me again how I got my name?”  It was a question I asked my mother often when I was a very little girl. 

            “Well, before you were born he would ask me when his baby sister Margie was going to come,” Mom told me once again.

            “So that’s why you named me Margie?  Honestly?”  I eagerly pursued the issue even though I already knew the answers to my questions.

            “Yes, honey.  Somehow your brother knew your name was Margie, even before Dad and I did.”

            The plane started to take off, and I closed my eyes.  I was exhausted from crying.  I thought about my mother and dad.  Did they know yet?  Would they be okay?  Or was I going home to more than one death?

            I became aware of the stewardess stopping by my row of seats again.  

            “Are you okay?  Can I get you coffee now or anything else?”

            “I’ll have some coffee.  Thank you for your kindness.”

            I turned back to look out the window again, noticing how beautiful the clouds were.  It made me wonder  where heaven was because I knew for sure he was there.

(To be continued.)