Dallen
Tomorrow my brother Dallen would have been 72.He died in November of 2020.In my honest
Opinion because he didn't want to live anymore.The official diagnosis multiple malignant
Neoplasms.
I called him Mick ,or Mr.Mick ,a nickname given due to his ruddy cheeks and black hair.
These monikers I used for most of the time we shared on earth,till shortly before he died when
I began to call him by the name only the family used.Dallen.All the people in his social group
Called him Dillon.The story goes it was a miss spelling on a uniform he was provided as a young man and he embraced it.As if by becoming Dillon it would change everything.It could change the way he held his spirit in check at all times wary of everything and everyone.As Dillon he was a
Valued member,actually the president,of the fraternal order he was part of.He was a funny guy
who was loved in the bars he tended and later frequented as he looked for a way to sedate.He could fix anything but himself.
When we were kids and someone came to the house Dallen would slip from the room to slick down his hair and nonchalantly return to the living room in a suit someone had supplied
propping himself cross legged like a man of leisure on the dilapidated arm of our couch.
As Barney Fife would say swawvay.Once I referred to said suit as powder blue and was corrected
by the Mr.himself. It was shark skin green in hue.
I lived to torment him,my older brother of five years.The tormenting was reciprocal in nature.I have a picture of us in my bedroom when I was nine and he fourteen.In it I look like bugs bunny giving poor old Elmer the undiluted business.
As a rule over the years he avoided the family,as if by doing so he could erase our shared memories.About once a year as we got older we met at one of the sisters homes for a brother sister dinner.He was always stilted as was several other members,mostly male.The girls having learned to mimic polite society as best they could.
Shortly before he found out he was ill be started trying to reach out to certain ones, me among them.When it became apparent he was in serious trouble I started bringing him Sunday dinner.Once I even got him to try Chaga a supposed miracle cure.About a week or so before he died he confided what a deep and unabating misery his life was and that he would happily
die to be out of it.When I heard this I wrote him telling him there is no situation that can't be rectified.The last time I saw him alive he was reading.We spoke shortly and I started to leave but then stopped crawled right up next to him in his bed and kissed him for the first time ever on the cheek and told him I loved him.His old supposed nemises had come full circle.Surely he knew he was loved.
The night he died his wife's mangy old cat died as well,and she was truthfully more bent out of shape about that than the human being she had spent twenty three years with.His bedroom was up five stairs in his split level easily viewed from below.Due to the close quarters
the mortician opted to leave the gurney down stairs and use a board of sorts to move him to it.As they navigated the hallway they would have dumped him in the floor if he had not been
Strapped on.As I watched this I remember thinking Mr.Mick would have cracked up.
I miss you Dallen and know you are safely in Gods vest pocket as we are assured he keeps the brokenhearted and broken of spirit close at hand and look forward to the day you are awakened from a much needed rest.All pain and cause for tears gone never to be called to mind.
I am also looking forward to seeing you in full bloom.
Your sister,
Viney
P.S.
The unopened letter was on his kitchen table.It was probably a moot point when it arrived .Most likely when I put it in the mail.
Thanks for listening.
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