Baby Brother

I got to pick out your first name. Mom said that's what big sisters do when a baby brother is on the way.

Such a big responsibility for a six year old who could barely write her own name. But I took the task quite seriously. I think I took everything seriously at that age. Maybe it was because I was already old enough to understand a bit about life and death. Suicide, Presidential assassination, personal trauma and surgery were part of my early memories. And of course I knew about new life and how mommies went to the hospital and brought home a baby. My aunts had done that not long before and now we were going to have a baby at our house.

I remember going to school on a cold morning in January, 1966. Then coming home and spending the night with one of my best friends/neighbor. I remember the excitement even if I don't remember all the details.

I remember the years since then. Fighting over toys; sharing jokes and pranks; working on 4-H projects together; arguing about politics, religion, and which television show to watch; and going to auctions together in search of treasures. In short, I remember the blur of growing up.

In the end, you towered over me, but you were still my baby brother. And it didn't matter that I moved half way across the country or that you turned 30. I still remembered that birthday that made you my baby brother.

And I remember the phone call that I had known would be coming soon. It was September 10, 1996. I remember the words, "It is over". Mom was barely able to say more.

Ten years.

How can it be over ten years since we chatted on the phone each week and compared silly stories of our lives. Ten years since your liver couldn't handle one more day. Ten years of cursing the alcohol that took you away as we watched, unable to change the course.

Ten years and I still miss you, baby brother.

In Loving Memory

Terry J.

January 16, 1966-September 10, 1996