Tuesday, June 24, 2008
My brother Joe and Poetry
Teen suicide sucks. I found out, first-hand, in 1971. My brother with that beautiful nervous smile of his, left us. It happened late at night. I was age 16 and asleep. Joe would have been 19 in one more week. I hope he stopped by my room and said goodbye. I'll never know. I have memories of him, very good ones. I discarded the negative, as best I can. The blog has helped me do this. If I could change things I would. He was so smart. So quiet. Call me Mr Opposite. We fought and loved each-other. He was my big brother but I was larger. He wrote this funny poem and I never forgot it. I don't know if my sisters know it, but I know it. word.for.word.
WHEN I GET OLDER by Joe
When I get older, I know what I'll be.
A wino's life, is the life for me.
Vin Ros'e and Muscatel,
A life like that would sure be swell!
I'd live down by the railroad tracks,
And keep my wine in paper sacks.
When I'm older and I die,
You'll know it's cause my bottle's dry!
Today: Sunday 29 August 2010
As I hurry to get ready for church and pray for good...I will try and knock this out. I wish it was something I could get out of me but it's stuck there. It's been what, 38 years? I was tying my shoes, getting ready for school. Another sunny May morning in 1971. Perfect for me, a Junior in high school, until I heard Mom yelling my Dad's name in a very different sounding loud and frantic voice. Joe was in the garage. It was there he'd taken a rope and ladder, sometime during the late-night or early morning hours, and comitted suicide. I ran from my bedroom as Dad pushed Mom out of the garage and told me to help get Joe off the rope. I held his limp body up so Dad could get the noose off of him. Joe was brilliant. He was sensitive. He was my big brother. We set him down softly and then I heard the air leave his lungs. He was dead...one week before he would have turned 19. My Elder Sister Carol could not bring herself to go to Joe's funeral. She deeply loved him and she and her wonderful husband took Joe into their home several times for weeks and months. She was forever mad at my Dad over Joe's death. You see..Joe was receiving professional psychological counseling and it cost money. Dad grew up on a farm in Texas during the depression and was a WWII USMC veteran of Guadalcanal. I think my Dad just figured life was tough and you just overcame things. He thought wrong... but this...I believe, was his mindset. He was my Dad and I couldn't fault him on his reasoning. I can't. All these questions like why?...come flooding at me. Still puzzling and hurting at times. Often out of the blue. Did he say good by to me? Is he in heaven? Is he in hell? Is there a heaven or a hell, or a damn God of any good out there? Could I have done or said something to him to keep from doing this to himself...TO US???!!! I couldn't wait to get away from home and my Mom's Jehovah God. More later maybe.