Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Lorne
Lorne
As I laid in bed tonight my thoughts roamed about my family. With an upcoming marriage and embarking on a new adventure, I became sentimental and remiscent. I thought of people I love whom I thought would not be here today, and the future of family. My thoughts turned to Lorne. When I had just turned 13 he died in a car accident. He was 19. Red hair, curlier than mine, teeth very similar before I had braces. Small man, very lean. Fine features, as is prominent in my family. My older brother.
I have glimpses of memories with him from the years before his death. Mostly of brotherly jokes and taunting. Some of admiration of his strength. Sitting on the couch watching him play the Rebound game he bought us for Christmas. That is my favorite story of him. He couldn't wait for us to open it. He was the first one to play it. I could never master the game quite as well as he could. I recall seeing a photograph of Lorne, sitting on the ground, playing the game. It's my favorite photograph.
I have random memories of Lorne. Perhaps I have just as many memories of his dying as I do of his life. Or maybe they are just so vivid because they are the last of him.
I remember the late night that the police summoned my parents to the hospital. My mom coming into the room to say they were going. She touched me gently as I lay in bed, as she has done many times before and since. I remember my Aunty Irene coming in the house during the daytime to get mom a blanket to reduce the physical fatigue and shock. I remember my parents being gone for many hours. I don't know what I did while they were away.
I remember the phone call from the hospital. They didn't know I was only 13. "He has taken a turn for the worse and we're trying to find the parents." I knew what was worse than a coma. He was dead. I realized it before the others, and waited at home to be told what I already knew.
The funeral is vivid. Sitting behind the privacy curtain, in the room reserved for family. Looking through glass at the service. My father holding my hand for a moment as I briefly cried aloud. Reaching out for my father's hand when he began to cry, but realizing that I couldn't comfort him. His grief was too deep. A father and mother should not have to bury their child. Yet many do.
As my cousins gathered and celebrated Lorne's life with some "cheer", I stopped in. That was my first taste of alcohol. A spiked rum and Coke that I didn't expect. It tasted weird so after a couple of sips I gave it to a cousin and went for a walk to clear my new headache. Sure can't hold my liquor. I spent much time in my room a church couple I babysat for, laughing as they told jokes and played funny songs for me. Thank you Anne and Dwight for giving me what I needed that day.
I've thought of Lorne many times over the years. At my first wedding at the age of 18, I wished he was there even if I had to push him up the aisle in a wheelchair. I guess it's times like these that make us miss family and what could have been.
Sometimes I am surprised by the sudden reminder of him. I spoke with my dad about that, as his wife is grieving the new loss of her son. I said "Dad, you know what it's like to lose a son. It hurts." We don't talk about these things, but I'm glad we did. He told me that he can be going about something and Lorne comes to his mind, pressing in suddenly. We share that experience.
It isn't always about sorrow. He did lots of funny and stupid things. Most of the things I was too young to witness, so they are family stories. Like climbing over a fence as a little boy, and getting his helmet caught on a nail, leaving him dangling by the chinstrap until found. He used to put his motorcycle helmet on his wet har, then lay on the couch to put more pressure on it. Curly wasn't cool. He did daring things like street racing, or flipping junk cars over on gate night.
Mom emailed me to say that one of her neighbours has a Beaumont. My brother used to. She doesn't know how she recognized the model. I do. The same way I can always recognize one. Part of the family. Love. Longing. Happy memories. Coming home from school and walking by the dark green low car with the silver "Beaumont" written across the back. I used to read the word every time.
I know this is a long post and it's late. I had to get out of bed to write. Maybe it's a long overdue tribute. The sorrow and flow of tears surprised me tonight. The longing was deep, and I still cry as I write. Not for what was, but for what might have been. For family...my red-headed brother.
As much as I want to know him still, I believe God knew the right time to take him, for His reasons. I don't know what life he would have had, or what challenges would have come his way. Had he not been in the accident would he still be alive today? I don't know. It could easily have been me gone instead. It isn't my choice to make.
These things I don't like to write about, because it will make my family sad. This is a time in my life for celebration, not sorrow.
Here's to Lorne. One day we'll be together again...big brother.
As I laid in bed tonight my thoughts roamed about my family. With an upcoming marriage and embarking on a new adventure, I became sentimental and remiscent. I thought of people I love whom I thought would not be here today, and the future of family. My thoughts turned to Lorne. When I had just turned 13 he died in a car accident. He was 19. Red hair, curlier than mine, teeth very similar before I had braces. Small man, very lean. Fine features, as is prominent in my family. My older brother.
I have glimpses of memories with him from the years before his death. Mostly of brotherly jokes and taunting. Some of admiration of his strength. Sitting on the couch watching him play the Rebound game he bought us for Christmas. That is my favorite story of him. He couldn't wait for us to open it. He was the first one to play it. I could never master the game quite as well as he could. I recall seeing a photograph of Lorne, sitting on the ground, playing the game. It's my favorite photograph.
I have random memories of Lorne. Perhaps I have just as many memories of his dying as I do of his life. Or maybe they are just so vivid because they are the last of him.
I remember the late night that the police summoned my parents to the hospital. My mom coming into the room to say they were going. She touched me gently as I lay in bed, as she has done many times before and since. I remember my Aunty Irene coming in the house during the daytime to get mom a blanket to reduce the physical fatigue and shock. I remember my parents being gone for many hours. I don't know what I did while they were away.
I remember the phone call from the hospital. They didn't know I was only 13. "He has taken a turn for the worse and we're trying to find the parents." I knew what was worse than a coma. He was dead. I realized it before the others, and waited at home to be told what I already knew.
The funeral is vivid. Sitting behind the privacy curtain, in the room reserved for family. Looking through glass at the service. My father holding my hand for a moment as I briefly cried aloud. Reaching out for my father's hand when he began to cry, but realizing that I couldn't comfort him. His grief was too deep. A father and mother should not have to bury their child. Yet many do.
As my cousins gathered and celebrated Lorne's life with some "cheer", I stopped in. That was my first taste of alcohol. A spiked rum and Coke that I didn't expect. It tasted weird so after a couple of sips I gave it to a cousin and went for a walk to clear my new headache. Sure can't hold my liquor. I spent much time in my room a church couple I babysat for, laughing as they told jokes and played funny songs for me. Thank you Anne and Dwight for giving me what I needed that day.
I've thought of Lorne many times over the years. At my first wedding at the age of 18, I wished he was there even if I had to push him up the aisle in a wheelchair. I guess it's times like these that make us miss family and what could have been.
Sometimes I am surprised by the sudden reminder of him. I spoke with my dad about that, as his wife is grieving the new loss of her son. I said "Dad, you know what it's like to lose a son. It hurts." We don't talk about these things, but I'm glad we did. He told me that he can be going about something and Lorne comes to his mind, pressing in suddenly. We share that experience.
It isn't always about sorrow. He did lots of funny and stupid things. Most of the things I was too young to witness, so they are family stories. Like climbing over a fence as a little boy, and getting his helmet caught on a nail, leaving him dangling by the chinstrap until found. He used to put his motorcycle helmet on his wet har, then lay on the couch to put more pressure on it. Curly wasn't cool. He did daring things like street racing, or flipping junk cars over on gate night.
Mom emailed me to say that one of her neighbours has a Beaumont. My brother used to. She doesn't know how she recognized the model. I do. The same way I can always recognize one. Part of the family. Love. Longing. Happy memories. Coming home from school and walking by the dark green low car with the silver "Beaumont" written across the back. I used to read the word every time.
I know this is a long post and it's late. I had to get out of bed to write. Maybe it's a long overdue tribute. The sorrow and flow of tears surprised me tonight. The longing was deep, and I still cry as I write. Not for what was, but for what might have been. For family...my red-headed brother.
As much as I want to know him still, I believe God knew the right time to take him, for His reasons. I don't know what life he would have had, or what challenges would have come his way. Had he not been in the accident would he still be alive today? I don't know. It could easily have been me gone instead. It isn't my choice to make.
These things I don't like to write about, because it will make my family sad. This is a time in my life for celebration, not sorrow.
Here's to Lorne. One day we'll be together again...big brother.
// posted by Annette @ 12:30 a.m. 