My brother Doug died tonight. The storyteller, the basket weaver, the fisherman, the drunkard, the painter. That leaves one living relative in my immediate family. My sister. The women. It wasn't a contest. It isn't like we set out to live longer than our older brothers, but we did. Well, I guess it remains to be seen if we actually live longer. We are, after all, younger than them. To some it may not sound so serious, but I started out with a big family and we're down to two of us. My sister said it well: "He did pretty good for a Kinney," meaning, he lived a long life for a male in my family. His younger brothers preceded him by many years, as did our parents. His wife, Joyce, the first three letters of her name an apt description, survives, and two children, Pieper and James.
Ah well, death is no stranger to me. I am grateful to lay next to my husband tonight.
Doug. There are legends about him in Port Orford, and Brookings, and in the Applegate Valley. Now all my brothers are in heaven because I wish it.
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5 comments:
Sorry to hear your brother passed away. It does make life all the sweeter with doors closing down the years.
Thanks. It does. The sun is out. A rare visit.
It was good to see you yesterday. I'm glad you called. Again, I'm so sorry about your brother.
Blogger isn't always accurate in telling when someone has added a post. So I missed this. Sad news and I'm sorry for you, for your sister. Stay healthy, woman! Here's an idea: move to the country! :)
Just now logging onto your blog after several weeks of, well, neglect. Sorry about that, and even sorrier about your brother. I'm pretty sure that he is the one that I met some time ago when visiting the coast for one reason or another. You showed me his baskets in the gallery window near his home. They were exquisite, delicate yet sturdy, woven from leaves that were sometimes trampled by the unenlightened. He was an artist to be sure.
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