*edited* I wrote the original version of this when I was very raw. I redacted a bunch of stuff that derailed from the point of it all, which is not me, but Buddy.
For the better part of my childhood, lets just call it, Chapter 1 – we lived either with, or very close to (in one case across the street from) my mom’s parents. My maternal grandmother had six children. Her youngest child, Buddy, was the same age or younger than her eldest grandchildren and was only a few yrs age different from some of them, including me.
And since we lived together and were around the same age (my oldest brother is my irish twin), we were like siblings. When we were living in my grandparents basement, my mother’s 2nd sister passed away.
Grama adopted her youngest son, David. I was about 5 or 6 at the time. David was only a couple yrs younger than me. Now I had another little brother. We all lived together.
Talk about a blended family 😉
Now my mom is working all the time. She has at least two jobs most of the time during this chapter. So, I am with my grandparents (and uncle and cousin aka ‘other brothers’) basically always. My Grampa, Buddy’s dad, was a father to us all.
Adam and David and Jon and I were all the pesky little siblings to Buddy who was other than us, the baby of 9 kids if you combine everyone. When he was in high school I was a cheerleader on his football team. He taught us all to play stratego and to love the Beatles. He was our big brother. In a way, he later becomes everyone’s big Brother.
He turns into the matriarch of the family after his dad passes. He literally takes care of everyone as needed. He is the youngest you may recall, and yet he is often the one that everyone depends on. He does right by all. He does the right thing always. He has an admirable career as a partner at Ernst and Young where he worked for over 30 years.
Then one day, a short while ago, I hear he has been battling brain cancer, the same disease that stole his dad from us, wickedly and rapidly. But he refuses to let it beat him and says that he will watch his youngest son graduate college. He already saw his oldest, his namesake, Harrison the 4th, graduate. And I knew he would do this. I knew he was a fighter and had made up his mind.
I told myself I would wait to hear when he would be comfortable seeing visitors, but that I wanted to catch a Red Sox game or Pats game with him soon. Baseball season came and went and I never made arrangements to see him — but I did write him a letter. I don’t know if he saw it or read it. Im thankful though that I wrote down my feelings to him.
And then, for some reason – and this is just going to probably mean something to me and be weird to everyone else, I hung up and old picture I am not terribly fond of that I haven’t looked at in a long time. Its from my wedding. It was that picture you put out that everyone signs. I stared at the signatures and read them, probably for the first time in 16 years. I noticed that 5 of the people who wrote a note, have passed. It struck me in my gut. I mentioned it to Steve and Justin, last night… And then, the next day, today, Halloween, it is 6 not 5. He is gone.
God bless you Vicki and Harrison and Conor. Your husband and father was a treasure. A beacon. May he rest in peace.
Thank you Buddy for taking Grama to my wedding. Thank you for your generosity always and to everyone. Thank you for your wisdom and your love. Youre with Grama and Grampa now and I know they are happy to be with their baby boy of whom they were to justifiably proud. Im sorry the white sweater hand rainbow stripes on the sleeves. I know you liked things to be correct. Sorry about the grilled cheese incident at that Cape – we were little brats, just like Grampa said. And Im sorry I knocked down the dominoes. I know I was annoying and I hogged Grampa’s attention.
Please don’t wake me up too late.
Tomorrow comes and I will not be late.
Late today when it becomes
Tomorrow I will leave and go away.
Goodbye. goodbye.
Goodbye. goodbye.
Goodbye. goodbye.
My love, goodbye.
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