A Talk With My Brother

"If I were able to have a talk with you today Dave, this is what I would say..."

My journal got an earful today during this visit with you as I poured out everything—an emotional dump like I’ve never shared with anyone before. But I figured, you probably already know, so why not just say it all? Have a real, raw, no-holds-barred conversation with you. I knew you’d understand. We were raised in the same home, share the same blood—and most importantly, I’ve asked you to be my Guardian Angel for something that’s not just big... it’s monumental.

It’s something from my past. A part of me that turns itself inside out and slips into darkness from time to time and I want to be done with it.

I’m trying—really trying—to squeeze that darkness out and replace it with light.

I’m not claiming I’ll stop being bipolar. What I’m talking about goes deeper than a diagnosis. It’s a feeling I’ve carried as long as I can remember—one of being dark, dirty, and scared. But little by little, I’m beginning to let it go. As I understand it more, its grip on me weakens. Healing isn’t quick, but it’s happening.

And that’s what I’m asking from you today, Dave—help me walk through it. Help me through the process.

The reminiscing today has been glorious. I wrote down a bunch of memories—maybe someday your kids will read them. Like the time we went water skiing in the canal, using the motorcycle as a boat. Or when Dad beat the hell out of you for streaking. Yep, those were the streaking days—and even though you were harmless, nobody saw it that way! You “streaked” in a jock strap, in our own yard, over the calf pens with one of the Milkers. None of that mattered to Dad. I tattled on you the next day, and I’ve regretted it ever since. You paid dearly for that shenanigan, and I’m sorry I sold you out.

Remember hide-and-seek on the motorcycles, using every nook and cranny the farm had to offer? Or playing Monopoly in the camper on rainy days—even if the camper was in the driveway? I don’t have a childhood without you, my dear brother.

Eventually, all of us kids got married and started having kids of our own. We’d gather at Mom and Dad’s every Sunday for roast and brownies. All of our kids, now the troublemakers, would make there way to the hay barn to make forts and play with matches. (That hay barn did eventually burn to the ground, lit by one of the other kids, luckily not yours or mine.)

As families, with Mom & Dad always there, we went to parades, water parks, and fireworks. We had picnics, went sledding, golfing, and you even talked some of us into going fishing.

But enough reminiscing.

Dave, your death was a turning point in our family’s life. There was life before you died, and life after. I don’t know what life would’ve been like had you lived, but I know one thing for sure: I sure would’ve liked to find out. But I won’t complain our family has been blessed beyond measure.

Thanks for your help along the way, I've felt you hangin' around a time or two. You've sure been gone a long time.