devastation
February 15, 2007

I have often said that I am not allowed to be happy. That no sooner do I start to emerge from my funk, and say that I am going to try, once more, to go all �pull your bitch-ass out of the doldrums� on myself (see previous entry)--I get a great cosmic bitch-slap.

This is continuing to hold true.

Sometime in the early morning hours of Tuesday, February 13th, 2007, my younger brother drove his car to a deserted stretch of road outside of town, pulled over, and shot himself.

It pretty much goes without saying that my whole family is crushed. But the devastation of my parents, and seeing my big strong Dad breaking down under the sheer weight of his grief--it is just wiping me out.

I have been crying so much since my mom called me Tuesday that I can barely open my eyes. We drove down yesterday morning and spent the day, my middle brother and his son came up from Iowa, and we all spent the day discussing and making plans.

The cops wanted to get into Sammy's house to check for a note or anything that would explain it, so my brother Buck went with them. My dad couldn't do it. Buck said the house was a wreck--like he hadn't been able to handle it for a long time. There was a bad water leak in the bathroom, and he'd just piled towels and clothes up to soak up the water instead of dealing with it.

Spouse, Nephew, and Dad went to take care of some errands and chores relating to the business that couldn't wait, so I stayed home with Mom and talked. She needed to, but she didn't really say much. I mostly tried to convince her that it wasn't her fault and she and Daddy had nothing to feel guilty about. Tough sell. My mom was apologizing to me on the phone for having to tell me the bad news, because she hates to hurt people, and there I am trying to explain to this guilt-complex on wheels that not everything is her fault.

All I could do is share what I truly believe: Sammy had an illness, and it killed him. No different from hypertension, heart disease, or diabetes. When you have a disease, you can do everything right--eat right, take your meds, see your doctor, and the whole nine yards--and still drop dead of it. Mom, Dad, and Sam worked hard for years, and did everything possible to manage his disease. But it isn't anybody's fault that it didn't work.

As is still completely the norm in small midwestern towns, The food started pouring in early yesterday. Friends and neighbors dropped by with donuts, casseroles, stews, fried chicken, brownies, and the like. This astounded my big-city Spouse, but it's just what people do in the world where I grew up, so it didn't seem weird. Just sweet.

Yesterday at three, we went to the funeral home to discuss arrangements, and got everything pretty much ironed out--but not finalized, because we decided to wait for my oldest brother so he could have a say. Bub got the news in Mexico--immediately upon arriving, after driving the two thousand miles to his mother-in-law's winter home. So he basically had to turn around and start driving the two thousand miles straight back. Since he is part of the family, and the oldest, we naturally want him to have a say in things as well.

Anyway, we got the obit set up, and made plans for a visitation and service on Sunday afternoon at the funeral home. My folks don't have a church, but they are former pillars of Presbyterianism, and my dad has a good friend/customer who is a Presbyterian minister, so they are going to ask her if she would do the service.

After the visitation and service, Sammy will be cremated. My dad wants to have him buried in the spring, in the family plot at our private cemetery in Iowa. That sounds so la-di-da, but it really isn't. It's an old churchyard cemetery that belonged to the Methodist church my ancestors attended. The little country church is long-gone, but the cemetery is still there, and descendents of the original congregation still bury their departed there. It is a beautiful spot, deep in the country, very peaceful and serene.

And we got hold of Sam's boss and started the ball rolling on any funds that there are. So many things can't be done before you get a certified death certificate, and the undertaker said that a cert could take weeks or months when there is a police investigation involved. So I guess we'll all be ponying up what we can for the funeral.

We came home last night, but I just went ahead and took the rest of this week off, because I am a wreck. My face is swollen, I'm exhausted, and I have a ton of shit to do before I leave tomorrow to go back down there. I'm going to help my mom clean and get the house put together for company, and help them deal with any stray stuff that comes flying at them. Then Spouse will come down Saturday, and we're moving to a hotel to get out from underfoot and get a few moments of relative peace.

Spouse and I met through my brother Sam�s friendship with Spouse�s brother JR, and JR is very busted up about it. Especially since he will have to miss the funeral. He has to be at a convention for work this weekend. But he informed all the guys my little brother was friends with in the old days, and I expect that a good many of them will be at the funeral. Sammy, despite his problems, was an immensely well-known and popular person in his community. There is no doubt it will be a full house to say goodbye.

I�ve got to get busy--I have to do laundry and book the dog at the kennel, and reserve a hotel room, and get our funeral clothes ready, and maybe go do some clothes shopping as well so I have decent things to wear. I still have a good-sized gift card for the Bug, so I can afford to do that.

And I think I probably have a lot more crying to do, for my sweet, fragile, loving, and wonderful baby brother.