Remembering Jim and Dan
Joe paddled his kayak back to the house to get sunscreen. I was alone in the middle of the canal, drifting for a moment in my kayak when the realization hit me: It was 5 years ago on the same day that my brother Jimmy died. Like a wound scarred over is tough, I resisted the urge to soften, to dwell on his death and missing him because I’ve done so much of that in the past. It’s painful and doesn’t lead anywhere.
“Look at me now in a kayak, Jim,” I said to myself. Because he was an avid weather and nature enthusiast, I knew Jim would be as excited as a kid about the Osprey nest I was drifting near. As a single parent who never had any money for vacations, there was so much that he didn’t get to see.
But my wound is not impenetrable. The opening created by my thoughts about Jim grew wider over the next couple of days, especially on the drive home from our beach vacation when I was alone in my car, following Joe in the truck. I can never think about Jim without also thinking about my brother Dan, who died a month after Jim.
Dan was sicker than anyone knew. He planned a road trip to spend time with Jim, thinking in the back of his mind that it might be his last chance to pull something like that off. When Jim died unexpectedly in a machine shop accident two weeks after returning home their road trip, the first thing Dan said was, “It supposed to be me, not Jim.”
I can only imagine what it was like for Dan to experience his brother’s funeral and burial knowing in his heart that he was watching what his own would be like. I remember giving Jim’s eulogy from the pulpit at St. Ann’s chruch and looking out at all my sibling’s faces, especially Dan’s. It was drawn and discolored from the liver illness he was battling. He looked like he was straining to understand how Jim could have died and was hoping I would say something to explain.
I listened to Jack Johnson on the drive home, a musician that my son Josh introduced me to, after I had complained to him repeatedly that I needed some new musical inspiration and didn’t know where to begin. “Wouldn’t Danny love Jack Johnson,” I thought, and with that thought, the way opened for a flood of others that caused my best defenses to crumble.
I was so proud to have turned Danny on to The Dave Matthews Band, because it was usually him introducing me to new great music. One of the last and most vivid memories I have of Dan comes from our last family Labor Day cookout at my sister Kathy’s house. Dan wanted to share his new John Mellencamp CD, so some of us went up to the living room to listen. Kathy and I were dancing to “Your LIfe is Now,” and Dan just got soulful … See the moon roll across the stars …See the seasons turn like a heart … Your father’s days are lost to you … This is your time here to do what you will do … Your life is now … Dan walked around snapping his fingers, swayed a little, and then stood still with his eyes closed and let the song sink in … Would you teach your children to tell the truth … Would you take the high road if you could choose … Your life is now.
After wiping away my tears, I looked up and saw the most magnificent cloud formation, dark and silver lined by the angle of the sun, hopeful.
“Wouldn’t Jim just love this cloud!” I thought.
Post Note: To learn more about Jim and Dan, go HERE.
July 28th, 2006 2:54 pm
I am sure your brother would have loved to see you in that kayak and who knows maybe he did!
What a bizarre set of circumstances…I have read your story before but I know you must wonder why did that happen like that….I really want to read your books from Amy, even though I might not understand it all yet (the grief you’ve known) she tells me it is wonderful.
July 28th, 2006 3:08 pm
Even though it was unspeakable to lose them both like that, we all felt that they were together and that maybe they had a plan. I think Jim’s death helped Dan face his own. And Dan told us he saw Jim just before he went. I don’t really KNOW anything about death but I sense there is so much more going on that what we see.
July 28th, 2006 3:57 pm
Is it because of the anniversary of Jim? or is it because we just lost Dad?
I have been feeling the sadness too.
I love that picture!!! XOX
July 28th, 2006 5:26 pm
As always Colleen, you move me so very very much…It is smething how little things can trigger memories that thenliterally come flooding in…Oh My.
In reference to your comment about Pink: “Everytbing Old Is New Again”…lol…remember that song? I guess if one waits long enough what was “out” will be back “in”. Well, I love my kitchen weather it is in or out or whatever…It suits me. But it is nice to know I’ve caught up with the tines!
July 28th, 2006 8:20 pm
What a beautiful post, Colleen. Your posts about your brothers are always so very moving.
That John Mellencamp song is one of my very favorites; the first time I heard it I stood dead still in the middle of the room with tears streaming down my face.
July 28th, 2006 8:36 pm
Good God but I remember that night so well.
Another song (lyrics below) comes into my mind often. We heard it a lot when we were growing up.
The last lie is almost chilling.
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying
‘Tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow
‘Tis I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You’ll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an “Ave” there for me.
And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you’ll not fail to tell me that you love me
I’ll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.
I’ll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.
July 28th, 2006 9:47 pm
Extremely poignant writing, Colleen.
I didn’t know the entire story about how you lost both your brothers within a month. I believe this is so much more than what we’d call “coincidence.” In my nursing profession, I’ve worked a lot with death and dying….however, the most profound experience I’ve ever had was when my father passed away….3 years ago this past April.
You’ve prodded me to share my experience about this, which I’ll do next week on my blog. I’d like to think there’s a “reason” why I need to share about my own personal experience with death.
Sending you all good thoughts as your memories of Jim and Dan surround you. But I firmly believe that cloud formation said it all.
July 28th, 2006 9:53 pm
I too sometimes find myself pushing thoughts of my mom back because the thoughts and memories are sometimes still too much. For good or bad sometimes I just try to ignore the thoughts to stop the sadness. During our wonderful vacation, I found myself secretly sad that there was no mom at home to call and let know that we had arrived safe. It was a loneliness that I hadn’t anticipated. Visiting you gives me a feeling that I’m still okay and it’s okay to feel sad. Thanks for helping to let the tears out. They’re already there, right? Have fun at Floydfest.
July 28th, 2006 10:56 pm
So good that you can recall things so clearly, good with the bad. People rarely die in the timeframe anyone has predicted. We’re all on borrowed time from the moment we’re conceived.
July 29th, 2006 12:07 am
Colleen: You write beautifully and I’m sure it helps your family and your brother’s friends to be able to remember them both, and to face their grief, through your words. Death is inevitable, but premature death is so hard to understand. I share your feeling about the cloud formation representing hope. I never see a rainbow that I don’t think it is my husband, who died at age 59 in 1990, looking down with love and telling me it’s OK.
July 29th, 2006 12:03 pm
So moving, Colleen, as usual. I know tht writing about Jim and Dan helps you to process you feelings about their premature deaths. It also helps us to read about your feelings and experiences. Thanks for being so open with us.
July 30th, 2006 9:04 am
Thanks for sharing your heart. These anniversaries are always bittersweet but when we stop to remember that we were blessed to know and love so deeply to hurt this much-wow. I am on the return part of my Idaho trip and will be home tomorrow. Be Blessed.
July 31st, 2006 8:40 am
heartbreaking. but what a wonderful post. take care sweetie.