“Remembering my Brother,” column for Aug. 2, 2016

A phone call at 5 a.m. rarely brings good news. I held my breath, afraid to answer. On the last ring, when I saw my sister’s name on the caller ID, I said a prayer and dialed her number. That’s how I learned what I never dreamed possible: My younger brother had died unexpectedly in his sleep.

His name was Denton. I called him “Bubba.” That’s Southern for “brother.” I also called him “Monkey Boy.” That’s Southern for a squirrely kid with a mile-wide grin that lights you up like Christmas and looks, yes, like a monkey. A cute one.

I wish you could’ve known him. Maybe you did. He never met a stranger.

The week before he died, I twisted my ankle and broke two bones in my foot. It prevented me not just from walking but, worse, from flying “home” for his memorial service.

Lest you wonder if somehow Bubba might’ve had a hand in my accident to keep me from telling stories about him at his service, let me assure you he would never do that. I’ve written lots of stories about him. If he wanted to stop me, he’d break my fingers, not my foot.

My mother was 17 when she had my sister. I came along six years later. When I was 4, Joe was born blind, afflicted by cerebral palsy. Denton joined the party when Joe was 2.

Growing up, we were close the way children learn to be, riding a hard, bumpy road, hanging on to each other for dear life.

As we grew older with lives of our own, the closeness faltered but the bond held firm. You don’t have to stay close to remember how it felt, and to hope you will be close again.

His memorial service, hosted by his wife and daughter, was a fitting celebration of a man much loved and a life well lived.    Joe spoke on behalf of our family in a voice that was both shaken by grief and steady with resolve: “He was my brother. We had our differences. But I loved him and he loved me.”

Others spoke, too, family and friends, telling stories that poured like a healing balm on a roomful of broken hearts.

I wish I could’ve been there. I might have added this:  When Denton was little, he liked to wander off _ across the pasture, back in the woods, as far as he could go. My mother would make me go find him.

I spent half my childhood looking for him. Sooner or later, I always found him. Often as not, he’d be curled up asleep under the porch with the dogs.

One day we were taking turns jumping a barbed wire fence. (Back then we didn’t have IPads.) One of us would hold the fence down while the other took a flying leap over it. At one point, for reasons I will never understand, when Denton leaped, I let the fence go.

Minutes later, as my mother rushed him off to get his leg stitched up, I stood sobbing on the porch waiting for the police to come and take me away.

The police never came. And Denton never ratted me out. He came home with 12 stitches, crawled up in my lap and asked me to tell him a story.

In that moment, I saw clearly the size of my brother’s heart. I would see it time and again in years to come: When he married his high school sweetheart, the love of his life; when he bragged about their daughter (which he did every time we spoke); when he came to California to comfort me after my first husband died, and made me laugh by hiding in the bushes growling like a bear to scare our sister half to death.

Sometimes when I flew back to visit, he’d give me a tour of the homes he built. (His crew loved that I called him Monkey Boy.) Or we’d meet for lunch in town and talk and laugh for hours. Each time I saw him, I always hoped for another time.

There are so many stories I could tell you about my brother and the size of his big heart.

I will just say this: If you get to heaven before I do, tell him that when I get there, I’ll be sure to find him.

And the first place I will look is under the porch.

Comments

  1. LAVANNA M. MORGAN says

    HI SHARON, I LOVE YOUR COLUMN I READ IT EVERY SUNDAY MORNING BEFORE CHURCH. THIS COLUMN ESPECIALLY TOUCHED MY HEART BECAUSE I TOO HAVE RECENTLY LOST A BROTHER TRAGICALLY TO DEATH. HIS NAME WAS JERRY AND HE WAS 9 YEARS OLDER THEN I. WE WERE NOT VERY CLOSE GROWING UP. THEN WHEN I GOT TO BE AN ADULT ACCORDING TO MY BIG BROTHER I COULDN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT. HE WAS ALWAYS BOSSING ME AROUND. HE DIED OF A SEVERE BRAIN BLEED, WHEN I FIRST HEARD ABOUT HIS CONDITION I COULD ONLY PRAY BECAUSE I AM ON OXYGEN 24/7 SO I CANNOT FLY. I COULD NOT BE IN HIS HOSPITAL ROOM WHERE ALL MY NIECES, AND NEPHEWS AND MY ONLY SIBLING ( A SISTER) WERE AT. MY SISTER SENT ME PICTURES OF HIM, I THOUGHT I WAS HANDLING IT WELL BUT I WASN’T. ALL I COULD REMEMBER WAS ALL THE GOOD AND FUNNY MEMORIES I HAD OF HIM AND I WAS ABLE TO SEND FLOWERS. HE WAS A MARINE SO HE HAD A MILITARY GRAVESIDE SERVICE AFTER THE FUNERAL. ANOTHER THING I MISSED. I AM ONE OF 6 CHILDREN, THE YOUNGEST, I HAVE LOST EVERYONE, ONE BY ONE BUT MY MIDDLE SISTER. I JUST WANTED TO WRITE TO TELL YOU I UNDERSTAND WHAT YOUR GOING THROUGH.

  2. Dear Sharon,
    So sorry to hear about Monkey Boy. I remember your story about his “driving” a car that was up on blocks. I remember many stories about your brother. He was lucky to have such a loving family. Thank you for sharing him with us.

  3. Sharon, so sorry for your loss. You and yours will be in my prayers. Take care of yourself.

  4. Gosh, your words so beautiful. I do not even know you or your brother and this still brought me to tears. The bond between siblings you explain the gift so well. Thanks for sharing part of your life and your loving heart.

  5. My heart goes out to you….please know you and your family are in my prayers.??

  6. Gail Staudacher says

    My heart and my prayers are with you and your family.

  7. So sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing your life with us. I’ve been following you for many years. I live in Indiana but I’m from Asheville, NC. Prayers for you and your family.

  8. Marion Ingber says

    I’m so sorry to hear you’ve lost (no pun intended) your little brother. I lost mine, also unexpectedly, almost a year ago and still find it hard to believe. Thoughts and prayers
    for you and yours.

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