I’m sure I’ve written a blog about my brother before, but it’ll be okay. Go ahead and grab a bag of 🍿 and put it in the microwave for 2.25 minutes. Grab you a 🥤 while you wait.
I’ll wait on you.
Ready? Here goes.
When my name is called on the roll up yonder, I don’t want a funeral with a eulogy. I don’t want a preacher. Nor any songs sang. Nor do I want tears. I’m living my dash (the little symbol on your tombstone that’s in between your birthdate and your deathdate) right now. The only thing I want is for this diary(my blog) to be printed off and given to every person I’ve ever written about. May my written words be proof of my love to my boys, to Preston, and to everyone that’s made an impression on my life.
Tonight’s blog is about my brother, Ken. He was my hero as a child and still is 49 years later. He’s been my protector and confidante since my birth three years following his own. Ken and I share a history that we don’t have with our other siblings(divorce, remarriage and all that nasty stuff that comes with that). Ken was my constant. He was there in the beginning, the middle, and now. He’s my favorite. Don’t be looking all righteous at what I just posted! You know you got favorites, too. We all do.
My brother was the first one I ever drank alcohol with as a stupid teenager. He’s the one I called when I couldn’t stay in my house after Joseph past away. He spent nights there protecting my property. He’s the one that spent numerous weeks and weeks getting me and the boys set up on our new property. He’s the one that I called when Preston was being flown to Charlotte, expected to die. He spent many nights with me in the months ahead. I particularly remember him coming in his post office uniform after work and not leaving until the wee hours of the morning…. headed back to work. He’s the one that’s made my house handicap accessible so Preston could come home. He’s the one that’s still always there when everyone else’s lives have gone on.
A few weeks ago, I asked him to write a note of congratulations for Hunter‘a yearbook. What my brother wrote was the most moving writing that I’ve ever seen. I think then I realized how much my brother loves me, my kids and my Preston.
Not too long ago, he and his family moved through the woods and into our grandmother’s house. Ken was grandma Vera’s favorite. 😂. See, it’s ok. I’m not jealous. I’m someone’s favorite, too. 😂 But we will keep that a family secret! I can’t tell you the conversations that we’ve hade in his little mancave, talking about life, death, God and so much more. I’ve shed some tears and gotten blunt advice. He recently told me that I was looking for something that I was never going to get. It was advice that I wished he’d given me 20 years ago, but the time wasn’t right. I’ve thought about his words many nights, and it’s helping me to stop beating a dead cat and rattling locks on a door that will never open.
Ken spent last night late in his shop building Preston a custom garden box. One that was perfect in height for 6’5 Preston to easily be able to work with without jeopardizing his safety. That’s Ken. In a nutshell. Always thinking about others, and never boasting,
When my name is called up yonder, I need someone to print this page off my blog, and give it to my brother. Don’t hug him(we hate those). But tell him that he was one heck of a brother that was very much loved and appreciated by his favorite sister.
How are you living your dash? Tell somebody how much you love them. Your dash can turn into a deathdate tomorrow.
Something to think about.
Dashing through life,