Make a deal with God, and get him to swap our places...
I think of this as the beginning of the dark ages-somewhere in the not quite middle of November.
My brother Ben, youngest of 9 born to my parents, ostensible bearer of a 3rd chromosome 21, was born on this day. November 18th, 1983. He'd be 29, if one can imagine that being a possibility. He died, suddenly, dramatically, insanely, just over a month after his 6th birthday.
I love writing. I think I first started loving writing (and loving writing for the reason of having a place to put my constant inner monologue, in particular) in response to his death. I kept notes in a three subject spiral binder with a red cover about him and my feelings in relation to his death in the immediate years following. So it seems only write, that i would right (yes i meant to misappropriate the spelling of the words that way) about all that on this day...23 years (almost) later.
There are moments that define your life so clearly, that no amount of time or distance or degradation of memory will ever put any distance between yourself and those moments. The moment I knew my brother was dead, is just such a moment.
He was sweet, and adorable. He had white blonde hair, and a beer belly and crazy dark blue eyes. His fingers were short and pudgy and he was about 3 years behind the learning curve. And he was sweet without equal, could work a VCR better than my mom, was up at dawn in his swimsuit/inner-tube and in the pool regardless of the ambient temperature. He had you wrapped around his sweet, fat, wrinkle-less finger before you knew what was happening.
Each of my sons has reminded me of him, in their own way, at different times. The subtle ways that nature can win out over nurture (or lack thereof, because certainly my ability to nurture is a shade compared to my mother-and her skills in this area may have been called into question by certain observers).
Happy Birthday to one who would be 29 this year, but is forever young in a way no mind of man can imagine.
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