The news was all wrong, no truth, the workings of a late April Fools joke, only hyperbole, a ploy from a woman seeking attention. I knew there was no way that my brother--the vegan king, the man who ate his way back to health, the father of three, the grandfather of two, and the brother to one--was being rushed to the hospital by ambulance and "might not make it."
I walked in circles around my friends' home unable to process this lie, the obvious ravings of a twisted mind, a lunatic playing a sick game. What do I do? Where do I go? Shall I drive to the hospital in Palatka or do I go to my mother's home in Jacksonville? And what if it turns out to be misinformation, as I am so certain that it is? My mind had no focus because it had no facts, only insane hearsay. I needed to go to the primary source, so I called the hospital to verify that I had awakened in the twilight zone.
Within minutes, I had spoken to my brother's wife and the news was confirmed. My only sibling had suffered a massive heart attack and died. Overcome with grief, she asked me to let his children know. I was no longer an extra in this horror of a play; I had unwittingly become integral to advancing the storyline. No writers, no director, just me doing improvisation while the synapses in my brain triggered, clicking with sadness and worry, to-do checklists, sick jokes, tears, irritation, laughter, avoidance excuses, anger, and more sadness.
For right or wrong, good or bad, I did to others as I wish to be done. No dancing around it, no small talk, just dreadful words from my lips to their ears. I furthered the nightmare. Dale was gone. Dale is gone.
My big brother, who watched over me, holding my hand and pulling me along to climb trees, jump over ditches, and explore the wildlife in our backyard "woods." We caught frogs together, crickets and snakes ... we studied the ants as they paraded across our sidewalk, blocking their path, responding with amazement at their antics.
Once he bought his 1969 Camaro, I was always along for the ride. He drove me to school, took me home for lunch everyday, and actually invited me along on his Saturday trips to the beach.
We had high school classes together, where he covered for me on the days I skipped and I covered for him when he failed to do his homework. My boyfriends became his best friends; yet, he knew better than to go near my girlfriends.
He got married; I got married. He had a child and I followed suit, alternating births until we each had three. For years, we maintained that mirror. Whether it was selling Amway or embracing Calvinism, we held tightly to the security of sameness.
With maturity and experience came independence and we were able to separate our identities. We debated; we argued; we became frustrated with each other at times. But he was still my brother, so we always ... mostly ... sometimes ended our conversations by expressing our love for each other.
And now he is gone.
A few years ago, Dale told me that before our father passed away, he had given him the charge to watch out for me. How I wish I had been watching out for him.
Bye, Dale.
Dale's Obituary
Dale's Passion
