remembering Billy.....

Today...I got the kids all on the bus, and off to Walmart with my sister I went. I met her at the end of my road, walking back down the hill and back up it again, getting ten minutes or so of exercise, shh don't tell my doctor. I tried to walk carefully. ha. Walmart had lots of clearance stuff. Jeans for Jonathan for three dollars a pair. I got the things on my list, like contact lens solution, socks for Margaret, wart remover for one of the kids who has plantar's warts on the bottom of the foot, ibuprofen....it was a nice little shopping trip. My cashier's husband is leaving soon for boot camp, he joined the Army. Lo and behold, the lady behind me in line joined the conversation because her son had been in the Army and had served in Iraq and Afghanistan. We had such a good time talking, I wished I had more stuff to be scanned so the conversation didn't have to end.

Home again...and I went in and exercised for 20 minutes...then lunch. Samuel took a day off from school because of a really bad headache. I made him some French Toast and sliced up an orange for him. I made myself an egg, and had a grapefruit. His French Toast looked and smelled so good, I used the rest of the egg/milk/cinnamon mixture, just cooked it up for myself with a bit of Splenda....it wasn't the same, but it was good.

I am thinking of sneaking away to the pool again this afternoon, perhaps with no kids this time. It tires them out so much, and takes so much of their time...but if they want to go with me, I will probably give in and take them.

Tomorrow marks the fourth anniversary of my brother's death. If you already know this story, go ahead and skip this...but for me, writing is therapeutic, and believe me, I need all the help I can get to get through this time of year. They say it gets easier as the years pass. I haven't found that to be so. Maybe because he died so violently, maybe because he did it himself, and the questions that will never be answered just don't go away. I live out in the country, where people hunt. They hunt for deer and rabbits, and all sorts of other little critters. They target shoot too. I do not like gun shots. I do not like guns. I fully support one's right to have one, but, don't ask me to like them. The gun didn't kill my brother, right? It was him. He chose to do it. If not a gun, he would have found another way. He planned it very carefully, you see. He left his bible with a stack of pictures of the good old days, when he was with his friends in church. He left a stack of money there too, enough for funeral expenses. He must have had some good reasons, although we will never know. We speculate that he wasn't feeling well because the autopsy showed high levels of carbon monoxide in his system...from his woodburning stove. He had no drugs or alcohol in his system. I think we would have felt better if he had, because that would have helped explained WHY. Now, no matter what anyone says, when your own brother shoots himself, you ask yourself how you could have missed the desperation he must have felt. The sadness or loneliness or unworthiness. I would have helped you! I would have listened! We could have figured this out! It can't have been that bad! But it is no good to think like that, is it? He is gone.

And we are left, year after year, to wonder. And to be sad. And to miss him.

It has been four years, and it hasn't gotten any easier.

He did it on my niece's birthday, and two days before Mali's fifteenth birthday. It has forever tainted those days which should be happy celebrations. Oh, we try to make those days bright. But.

There is a time for everything under the sun, I suppose. I am still here, and have many many blessings in my life, but I will take some time to be sad, and to remember my brother. I will remember the funny things he said, and the way he mocked everyone and everything. The way we played Barbies and Ken dolls, the parties we had on the beach. How he was so handsome and charmed all of our friends' moms. How he took such good care of our parents. How he kept the candy jars filled with caramel creams for the kids when they visited. How much he loved his dogs, he took better care of them than a lot of people take of their kids. I think of him when I peel apples, he used to make his Apple Grunt with no recipe and it was always delicious. He liked to make chili and calzones, he loved hot and spicy. Once he made this chili sauce that was so spicy, his face turned beet red and tears ran down his face. He sat there all seriously, trying not to admit how hot it was, but when I told him he had steam coming out of his ears, he cracked the slightest smile. He was SO stubborn. Sometimes one of my kids will look at me with that look, that Billy Look, that straight-faced piercing gaze, and I will remember him. Well...I think I am going to go lock myself in the bathroom and cry for a while...then maybe I will feel better.