In Lieu of Danny
In the spirit of my brother Danny who died in 2001, I went to his 40th year class reunion while in town to help out my mother in Hull this month. The strange line-up that began the crashing of the class of 1970’s reunion began with the crashing of a party for the class of 1967, where I met a close friend of my brother Jimmy’s (Jimmy also died in 2001) for the first time and was able to put a face to a name after all these years.
While a friend who I went to my first prom with and who had recently read the book I wrote about losing my brothers let me know about the ‘67 reunion party, I had no idea that my brother Danny’s class would be celebrating their 40th reunion the very next weekend.
I was upstairs in my father’s bed (who died in 2005), the only place I can pick up wireless in my mother’s house, when I heard a man’s voice shouting from outside, BARBARA! BARBARA! (that’s my mother’s name). I ran downstairs to discover it was Chuckie, an old childhood friend of Danny’s and mine (Danny was only a year younger than me) in town from Florida for the class of 70 reunion.
It was Chuckie who talked Danny into going to their 30th reunion ten years before. Danny lived in Texas at the time and because of past trouble with the law in Massachusetts had never gone to a reunion and was leery to go the 30th. But he went and it turned out to be a highlight of his life, which little did he know would be cut so short.
It was also Chuckie who flew a sick Dan home to Texas after Jim died ( a month before Dan) when the rest of our family was immobilized with grief. It was Chuckie who called the ambulance the night he and Dan arrived in Texas, and Chuckie who stayed with Dan in the hospital until I could fly to be by his side.
It was Chuckie who lost his own little girl not long before Dan died. Chuckie who taught me to drive Dan’s big truck in Houston traffic, back and forth from the hospital to Dan’s apartment for the two weeks I was there before Dan died. And it was Chuckie who invited me to his and Dan’s 40th class reunion.
The first thing I noticed was that Dan’s reunion was far better attended than any of mine. The hardest part was watching an alphabetical blown-up slide show of all the classmates graduation photos. I waited. But they skipped Dan. His larger than life photo came later with about 12 of his classmates: Lost but never forgotten. I wanted to cry. I wanted to kiss him.
I didn’t stay long and left on a high note.
I had almost not gone to my own 40th class reunion but a classmate organizer talked me into it by agreeing to play a special request song, one I knew I could dance to: Aretha Franklin’s RESPECT.
Guess what they played at Dan’s reunion? When I heard RESPECT, I found my way to the dance floor and danced my heart out with an old girlfriend of Dan’s. Two women who loved Dan hugging, singing, and dancing. Two women missing Dan.
Photo: Dan’s first love, Andrea, and me. Chuckie (who my family hadn’t seen since Dan died) with his wife Heather.
June 28th, 2010 7:55 pm
I regret some things in my life, and at the moment reading this, I regret not going with you. xox
PS It is hard for me to see the light in passing.
June 28th, 2010 7:59 pm
You were there in spirit. We can’t be more than one place at a time. But I do wish you were there to help me with who was who. I almost talked myself into not going. I was tired, had to pack and leave the next morning but I knew I would be sorry if I didn’t. I’m glad one of us did and it did give the 2 weeks some meaningful balance.
June 29th, 2010 1:18 am
I’m so glad that you were given the opportunity to go to this reunion and honor your brother and spend time with his friends. What a blessing.
June 29th, 2010 8:54 am
That was truly a blessing and I am certain that he knows all about it and approves.
June 29th, 2010 3:50 pm
An emotionally powerful scene for you to enter into. Must have been nice completion to put a face and person to a long-known name.
I didn’t go to any of my old school reunions. Didn’t know the people then. Not so much as dropped stitch as nothing ever knit.
June 29th, 2010 7:33 pm
Wow. That is quite a long chain of coincidences! It makes me want to read your book about losing your brothers, but I don’t think I have the courage to read it right now. Instead, I’ll keep it on my wish list, and remember it for when I am ready.
It sounds to me like your home was just waiting for your return this time around, and had plenty of love and life to share with you.
June 29th, 2010 7:36 pm
Also, you look phenomenally beautiful in that photograph!
May 12th, 2014 11:35 pm
[…] A couple of months ago, I drove my husband, Joe, to Abington, Virginia, where he was presenting a workshop on Mindfulness. I drove, so that he would be free to prepare his presentation and then have time to rest before giving it. Now it was his turn to drive me – to the Franklin County Book Festival where I was scheduled to talk about my book, “The Jim and Dan Stories.” Remember when you did this for me?” he asked, as we drove past a field of hay bales on the Blue Ridge Parkway. “Now it’s my turn to do the same for you.” “But I’d rather be driving,” I answered, and we both laughed because we know how much I dislike driving, and that I dislike public speaking even more. You see, I’m high strung. You see, I have a gene that makes me not handle stress well. My eyeglasses are always dirty, I have garden dirt perpetually under my fingernails, and I need a haircut. I’d rather be photographing butterflies in my yard, or visiting my blog friends, Deana, Terri, and others. Heck, I’d rather be cleaning my house than descending down the mountain on a steep and windy road named “Shooting Creek” while looking down at how far we could fall if Joe made the slightest wrong move with the steering wheel. The talk I was set to give (and another one next week!) was put in motion last year, when, apparently, I was feeling more self-confident and motivated. Agreeing to do public speaking is a little like death to me. When I sign myself up, a part of me doesn’t believe that the day will come when I actually have to do it. We arrived early at the Franklin County Library, where the book festival was being held. The plan was to attend some of the other scheduled events before I was “on,” but everyone was over at the Rocky Mount United Methodist Church listening to keynote speaker, Professor “Bud” Robertson, Director of the Virginia Center for Civil War Studies, talk about “Robert E. Lee.” After unloading some books and setting up in the room that had a table with my name on it, Joe got busy on his laptop and I went back to the car to rest. I had nearly an hour before my talk, “Mining the Gold of a Story,” was to begin, and my anxiety was mounting. I tried to meditate. I drank some green tree. I took some Ginseng and listed to the birds chirp. Then the following happened … Next to the library, a car show was going on. I vaguely remember seeing a lot full of brightly painted old cars, when we pulled into the library parking lot, but because I was distracted by my own distress, I wasn’t too impressed. Well, those car show people were partying, and on the blaring loud speaker that I had managed to previously tune out, I heard a familiar song that made me smile, in spite of myself. It was Aretha singing RESPECT: WHAT YOU WANT … BABY, I GOT IT… WHAT YOU NEED…DO YOU KNOW I GOT IT? Not only have I said in the past that I will get up and dance anyplace, anytime I hear Aretha sing RESPECT, I thought if I could manifest my husband, the love of my life, by repeatedly dancing to Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love,” I would take a chance. I hopped out of the car and, standing near the rear bumper, I began to loosen up, until I was swaying, snapping my fingers, and singing along … I AIN’T GONNA DO YOU WRONG WHILE YOU’RE GONE … CAUSE I DON’T WANNA … R-E-S-P-E-C-T … FIND OUT WHAT IT MEANS TO ME. After that, I went back into the library ready to give my talk with a little more confidence, a slight bounce in my step, and just the right dose of attitude. Post notes: These things always go better than I imagine they will, and I try to keep that in mind when I’m feeling like a wild hair out of place. The photos were taken by a woman who works at the library and Joe downloaded them onto his laptop. More on R-E-S-P-E-C-T HERE. […]