Farewell, Uncle Chris

The world feels a lot colder already without you around, and I wish so much that you could come back to us. I am thrilled that, long before you left, we re-connected: sometimes brothers don’t. We never grew apart per se, but we just got very busy; and it was so nice to hang out together, even if it was just our avatars playing cards, or the two of us ripping up a dirt road in a jeep-like vehicle on some faraway planet. It was always good to hear you laugh, and I thank you for taking the time to spend with me. I hope God gave you the wings you’ve always wanted, my Bro; so that you can fly like in your dreams. You the man.

I want to share with everybody else the last text message I received from Chris. It said “See ya, bro! Thanks again! Love you guys too!” He’s signed some cards with “Love, Chris” but I think that was the first time he said “Love you guys too!” It makes me glad that of all that we’ve said, this was his good-bye.

If I could only ever convey one story about my brother, I would have to choose a tale from one of the few times we walked back from DuVall Elementary School together when we were quite young. It was winter, and a safety (a student crossing guard) flaunted his power by making us wait an extremely long time at his corner. (For the record, his name was Tommy, and he didn’t like me much.) As long as his arms were outstretched, we had to wait; those were the rules. So he made us wait until he got bored, and then made us say please, and pretty please, before he finally let us cross. We got about half-way down the next long Dearborn block when Chris motioned for me to stop. He picked up a handful of snow, formed it into a ball, and with a grunt of effort, threw it into the sky. I squinted up into the afternoon grey and mentally traced a path to its intended target. Tommy was facing away from us, trying to get somebody’s attention way up the street. As fate would have it, Tommy was so intent on getting that person to look, that he removed his knit winter hat to wave it as well. The moment the hat came off of Tommy’s head, Chris’s snowball impacted in its place, perfectly centered on the top of his skull. I swear a better and more satisfying explosion has yet to be made by a Hollywood effects company. I laughed and laughed. He smiled down at me, I beamed up at him, and we walked on. That was my brother, in a wonderful, perfect nutshell.

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Rest in peace, you will be sorely missed. See this image larger.

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