David

Today marks the anniversary of my brother's death. Six years ago he made the choice to end his life. My whole family was never the same after. I can't speak for everyone else, but I suspect I'm not the only one who still wonders why.  I don't think my mother ever really recovered from the total, shockingly raw, agonizing pain. There just aren't enough adjectives to describe how a mother must feel. When I try to imagine it I have to give up after a few moments because I just can't even deal with it in a safe, artificial context.  I do know that a mother's love knows no bounds. It doesn't matter what her son/daughter does in life, she will love him/her unconditionally, beyond death, beyond eternity.

However, the beauty of the human heart is that it does heal. And after several years, the good memories begin to crowd out the bad. Over the past couple of years I have found myself recounting fond memories to my children of David and me in our childhood years. I tell them how we played and of the hours we spent swimming in the lake (literally hours!). And I let them know that we stayed outdoors from morning until dark, coming inside only to grab a sandwich for lunch, which we often had to eat outside because we were dripping wet. And how our favorite games were building roads in the dirt with sticks and stones and driving just a couple of matchbox cars around for hours. What a life! I'm pleasantly surprised to see how interested my grown children are to hear these stories.

David and me.

When I think of Dave now, I always see him perched on the bar stool in Mom's kitchen. That's where we all were, all of the time.  Hanging out around the kitchen counter. Just like it is now in my house, with my kids. And so it goes...