I've done a few difficult things in
my life and I think it’s safe to assume we all have. As a kid going to school, making
passing grades and just fitting in seemed monumental. Turns out this was both
easy and…practice.
I never fully realized the luxury of
trying as hard as I could (or at least giving it a good fake) and then asking
an adult for help.
Deep down somewhere I knew there was an “out”. We are big on rewarding effort, and often the means realize more
credit than the end. The older you get the harder it becomes to pull this off.
Burying my brother was the hardest
thing I’ve ever done.
Saying this out loud suggests that it is something that I have conquered, and
while I know I have to a great extent, there is a part of it that refuses to
leave. When it leaves it’s over.
Burying is not simply digging a hole
and interring remains;
it is answering questions; it is dealing with an estate; it’s removing
possessions from a home; it’s the absence at holiday gatherings. It lasts a long
time and each of these acts creates new memories; good and bad.
The item that hurt the most to remove
from my brother’s home was a small tool bag. It was hanging over the back of the door ready to go
for a ride. A few screwdrivers, wire cutters, black tape and a "check" meter; it was the
bag that held the minimum amount of tools inside to make an electrical repair.
I hated to touch it because I knew he would be back for it in a few minutes; he
would be mad if it was disturbed or a tool removed. I took this bag home with
me before anything else.
This was over nine years ago and I
have since moved the bag with me to another home. I have robbed a tool from it at
times, but I always put it back. The bag has not been moved from its spot on my
basement floor for the five years that I have lived in this house, but I feel a
wave of emotion each time I see it. I travel back in time.
This past weekend I built some
shelves in the basement to “get some
things off the floor”. Flat surface disease runs unchecked at my house as does the
responsibility for it. Shelves (another flat surface) are the cure.
I moved boxes and tools, first out of
the way of the incoming shelf, then to their new home on the shelf. I kind of saved the tool bag for
last; I think I was waiting for the right place. When it was finally his turn
to be moved, the radio did an amazing thing. As I placed the bag on the new shelf
it played the America song Ventura Highway that we both loved so much. This was our traveling song and I chose it for
his funeral. The bag only traveled a few feet…but I agree; traveling is
traveling!
Oh my...I bet he is so proud that you have his tool bag...he was a tool person. When you guys were teenagers I rewrote the rules for life...his #1 rule was "the more working parts a thing has, the more desirable it is to own". He wanted to and could fix it if it broke! Ventura Highway is magic, absolute magic. Gus gives it to us when we need it. Marsha
ReplyDeleteThat song just slips up on me sometimes when I least expect it!
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing this beautiful and moving tribute. You are an amazing writer!
ReplyDeleteWonderful! I've not lost a brother, but I have buried way too many friends over the years. I have an old address book (yes, a paper one,) that I look through from time to time. I have moved the living to newer address books (both paper and electronic,) but I keep the old one just for the memories that the numbers and addresses hold for me. As long as I can page through and remember them, they will continue to live, if only in my memory.
ReplyDeleteBill it amazes me how looking through pictures or addresses of old friends will trigger memories of things you haven't thought of in years...almost like new memories!
ReplyDeleteI have come to believe that Ventura Highway slips up on you just when you need to hear it. It happens to us all the time! That song is a gift! Thank you for giving this song to us too.
ReplyDeletePatti I really don't listen to music as much as I used to, but since discovering Pandora on my iPhone I have been listening a lot more! Timing is everything!
ReplyDeleteIn June of 2003, I went deep sea fishing in Panama City. I left my house at 3:00 to get to PC in time. The very first song I heard when I got in the car was Ventura Highway. At that early morning hour, the song went directly to my soul. I whistled that song all day long and felt as though I was fishing with Gus.
ReplyDeleteI love your story Ande.
I love that Darryl! Just when you least expect it!
ReplyDeleteA moving story, Ande. I'm interested to find Ventura Highway and feel where it might take me. My brother Bill gave me a pair of cowboy boots many years past. They're beyond servicable now I'm afraid, but I've never thrown them out. Maybe now I know why. Oh, I know what Bill would say, " They're shot, throw the damn things away"! Maybe not just yet. I'll sit in the dark with Ventura Highway a time or two and see what happens. I like your writing very much. Richard
ReplyDeleteRichard the highlighted Ventura Highway at the bottom is a link to the song. I do think it's funny that if we showed the person we are remembering the mementos that we hang on to they would probably laugh at us! Thanks for stopping by!
ReplyDelete