Thoughts about my brother’s death

 What a bittersweet beginning to this new year. Last month when I broke the news to my family that I was losing my job at the end of the year, my dad and youngest brother Chip got together and arranged for me to fly back to Colorado to visit for a week in January. Then came Jan. 1, 2021. My first day of unemployment was further shattered when my middle brother Don took his life. Suddenly this trip that was supposed to provide me some R&R (regroup and recharge) took on a whole different meaning. Rather than luxuriating in a beautiful Colorado winter, we were laboring in the confines of a dank, smelly townhome all cluttered and filthy. Ironically, it is only in death that I learned how my brother lived.

Don was a hermit. He was a Navy veteran and proud of it. He lived alone with his dog Opal, who passed away a couple months ago. Don suffered from severe depression his last few years since Mom died. She was the only one he would let get close to him. He kept the rest of the family at a distance and seldom communicated, often breaking contact for months at a time. After suffering a heart attack a few years ago, he quit working. If he got a job he would suddenly stop shortly after starting. Mostly he holed up in his home and did nothing all day, week after week and month after month.

For years Don loved to go camping with Opal. He camped and hiked and accumulated a lot of high-quality gear. While he was working, he bought top quality stuff. His clothes, art collections, cookware, furniture … everything was top-notch. He simply didn’t keep it up. His place was filthy. Dust, dirt, dog hair, and cobwebs were everywhere. The stench of cheap cigarettes permeated everything in there. Mouse droppings coated kitchen cabinets. There were mouse traps all over the townhome and the rotted remains of mice in various places.

Despite the clutter and the filth, the place was reasonably well organized. He kept things mostly compartmentalized and stored neatly. I understand that my brother Chip and his wife Susan had a lot to do with the organization when they helped deep-clean the place two years earlier, but at least he maintained it, sort of. We found dozens of flashlights and reading glasses throughout his home and truck. There were also collections of pennies scattered everywhere.

I’ve always known Don to be a man of faith. Over the years he bought merchandise and donated thousands of dollars to a couple televangelists. What none of us knew was he had become a Messianic Christian. He had a shrine of Jewish art and artifacts in his bedroom. He was learning Hebrew and had flashcards, books and other items to help him learn. We found a plastic bin with scores of Messianic videos under his bed. His tablet has all kinds of Messianic, Jewish, Israeli, and Hebrew apps. He had numerous CDs of sermons and Jewish instruction. And he had a huge collection of Bibles.

In addition of having most of our father’s pewter collection, Don had a lot of Western and nature art. We also learned that he had a fetish for Anglicized Native American women. He had several paintings, wind catchers, and other depictions of Indian women. His kitchen cabinets were lined with about 30 collectible statues of Native American angels. They were dirty but cleaned up nicely. He had certificates of authenticity for many of them.

As I sorted through his computer tablet, I discovered that he loved playing escape room games. He had dozens of them on there. Judging by them and other games he had, he liked to be intellectually stimulated. He didn’t have many games or apps that were mindless entertainment. He had several apps related to learning Hebrew.

For two days Dad, Barbara and I did the heartbreaking and backbreaking work of sorting through Don’s stuff. Things that we wanted to keep we set aside. Most of his stuff either went to Goodwill or in the trash. I hated to see so much good stuff like that go away, but I hope it will serve as a blessing to someone who needs it.

Dad and I also started the process of getting Don’s truck ready to give to my son Wesley. We had to add fluids, but overall the truck was in good shape, just filthy and suffering from neglect. It also had a cover over the bed, but we had no keys and the locks were broken. After a break to go spend a couple days in Breckenridge with my brother Chip, we returned to working on the truck and the townhome. I removed so much dog hair from the truck that I joked that Opal had three puppies posthumously. It took a lot of cleaning and a lot of Febreze to get the cab cleaned out. Dad and I had to crawl into the bed of the truck to unbolt the cover so we could throw it away.

We had Don’s memorial service at Fort Logan Cemetery in Denver. Howe Mortuary screwed up big time. We assumed he would get military honors, but Howe never told us we had to request it. When we showed up on Wednesday, Jan. 13, they were expecting a casket and we arrived with an urn. The only person ready for us was the director. He apologized for the mix-ups and blamed it on Howe. Still, he played taps, got someone to help him fold the flag and present it to my Dad. Dad played a recording of “Go Rest High on That Mountain” by Vince Gill and we all sobbed. After a brief stop at Barbara’s father’s grave, we all went to the Niwot Cemetery. There we buried a small vial of Don’s ashes with Mom’s grave. After that we ate out and Chip and his family went home.

To get the truck ready, I had to get an emissions test. It failed. A mechanic cleared the codes and 100 miles later it passed. I also spent a lot of time on the phone with the Colorado DMV trying to figure out how to get the truck re-licensed long enough for me to get it to Wesley. I eventually got a 10-day tag for it. While I was dealing with a lot of this stuff, Chip was busy deep-cleaning the townhome and getting it ready for an estate sale. My friends the Baumans came by and bought a lot of pewter. I helped Chip with some of the cleaning but he had most of it done.

While in Colorado, I got to spend time with my daughter Heather, step-grandmother Flora, and visit with Jerre and Terri Bauman, Travis Pryor, and Heather’s mother. Heather and I spent a half a day in Estes Park. After we were done, Heather returned home and Dad and I loaded the truck. We didn’t think we could get all the tools and things I had set aside into it, but we got everything in and then some! I have to admit to feeling like a vulture, but I think Don would have been happier knowing we made use of some of his better stuff than just getting rid of it. That and we have need for a lot of the things I kept, especially tools and camping gear.

My goal when I drove out for home on Jan. 16 (the day that would have been my parent’s 56^th anniversary) was to drive straight through for about 18 hours. The trip started well. I got to Raton, N.M., before making my first stop. While gassing up I noticed that the two front tires were worn to the wire on the inside. The tire shops in town were closed, so I pressed on toward Amarillo, stopping at every town along the way looking for an open tire shop that had the size tires I needed. That slowed me down and I had no luck. I finally got to Amarillo and found a Discount Tire that was open. I got the tires replaced, ate dinner, and altered course for Sandy’s parents’ home in Kerrville. I got in after 11 p.m. after 17 hours of driving.

The next morning I finished the trip home and it was like Christmas when I arrived. I spent a day at home resting up. We loaded the truck with things for Wesley and on Tuesday morning I headed for Florida. I made it in 17 hours. I spent Wednesday with Wesley seeing all of his work and visiting his favorite haunts. I finally got to meet his friend Chip Reams, who has been an excellent mentor for Wes. He took us to dinner that night. The next morning Wesley’s wife Dena drove me to the airport. Colton picked me up when I arrived back in Houston.

In those two weeks I made two flights through four airports, drove two 1,000-mile trips passing through seven states, slept in three time zones, visited almost all of my family excluding one nephew and all of my aunts, uncles and cousins, listened to two audiobooks, and made new friends. It’s no wonder I’m so tired. Still, God blessed and protected me and my family. The whole thing was triumph out of tragedy. Despite the loss of Don, I feel good about everything and the times to come.