I have quite a few memories of Wes. I wanted to share this one first.
In highschool, on a whim I wanted to start running every morning before school. On the first morning I decided to do this I got up early, before the sun and put on my running shoes. Wes was waiting outside. He had driven to my house so he could run with me- not that he wanted to start running- it was that he didn’t want me running alone.
I can’t express how special that mad me feel and at the time probably didn’t realize how wonderful of an act it actually was. This was our only early morning run together. I guess the whim for me was rather fleeting- but I do know that if I wanted to get up and run that next morning, Wes would have been there waiting. Wes was very caring and kind.
In the movie American Me, there is a part when the women is speaking about the main character and she says- "you are like two people". This described Wes. He was like two people. He was the boy that would run with me in the early hours of the morning so I didn’t run alone- but he was also the boy who would smash his fist through a window if something angered him. I believe he never actually knew how to be one or the other, although he tried. This was a constant inner battle and this battle created more of the anger and frustration that hindered the boy that ran with me that morning from shining.
And now the tears begin to flow.
And I wish I could have done more- even when I am told over and over that it wouldn’t have mattered it is a feeling, a thought I can not shake. Even after all these years.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Burning Down the House
My parents had gone to the grocery store together and I was home with Wes - probably because I'm grounded - that was pretty much my life ages 12 - 18. On the other hand, I don't think Weston was EVER grounded. And, this was not because he was an angel. He was either a faster talker than me or it was an ineffective punishment for him, or who knows? Not that I'm bitter... No, really I'm not. Just because I'm still complaining about it 22 years later... Anyway, I'm really not sure how old we are - but would guess 15 and 8.
I'm sitting in my room playing "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears, and knowing that in fact I did rule... hanging out, reading a book, curling my hair, drawing hearts around boy-of-the-month's name, whatever it was I used to do (certainly not homework...) and then I spy the faintest hint of smoke curling up through the vent. Hmmm... bummer... like, that can't be good.
I sashay down to the kitchen - nothing. Grab a drink and a snack, turn on the TV and amble downstairs to the basement - nothing. But then I venture to the "unfinished" portion of the basement where the water heater and my dad's workshop is located. The door is closed. I open the door to dancing yellow flames and billows of charcoal smoke.
This awakens me from "I don't care" teenage land, I close the door and sprint up the stairs bumping into Wes who has just dashed in through the front door with the neighbor, both armed with fire extinguishers. The neighbor scampers downstairs to the fire and I call 911 and the grocery store to alert my parents to what Weston did - this time. Oh, my, gawd, can you believe this kid? Ruining my perfect afternoon. Yea, but what a great excuse for not getting my homeword done! Score.
After answering the page at the store, my father proceeds to leave my mother at the grocery store and drive home. Accident? I think not. In the meantime, the local fire engine, ambulance, police and water rescue have arrived on our doorstep. (Water rescue?? I know, I too was confused.)
It turns out Wes had been prepping decoys for hunting and was melting something with matches and somehow hunting clothes and gear caught fire. After receiving no response to his hollers (apparently I was rocking out) he wisely went to the neighbor for help.
Thankfully we all survived - mostly smoke damage to the basement and the neighbor's lungs, another grounding for me and an atta-boy for Wes for his quick thinking which mitigated the fire damage. Yes, I know, bitter, bitter.
I'm sitting in my room playing "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears, and knowing that in fact I did rule... hanging out, reading a book, curling my hair, drawing hearts around boy-of-the-month's name, whatever it was I used to do (certainly not homework...) and then I spy the faintest hint of smoke curling up through the vent. Hmmm... bummer... like, that can't be good.
I sashay down to the kitchen - nothing. Grab a drink and a snack, turn on the TV and amble downstairs to the basement - nothing. But then I venture to the "unfinished" portion of the basement where the water heater and my dad's workshop is located. The door is closed. I open the door to dancing yellow flames and billows of charcoal smoke.
This awakens me from "I don't care" teenage land, I close the door and sprint up the stairs bumping into Wes who has just dashed in through the front door with the neighbor, both armed with fire extinguishers. The neighbor scampers downstairs to the fire and I call 911 and the grocery store to alert my parents to what Weston did - this time. Oh, my, gawd, can you believe this kid? Ruining my perfect afternoon. Yea, but what a great excuse for not getting my homeword done! Score.
After answering the page at the store, my father proceeds to leave my mother at the grocery store and drive home. Accident? I think not. In the meantime, the local fire engine, ambulance, police and water rescue have arrived on our doorstep. (Water rescue?? I know, I too was confused.)
It turns out Wes had been prepping decoys for hunting and was melting something with matches and somehow hunting clothes and gear caught fire. After receiving no response to his hollers (apparently I was rocking out) he wisely went to the neighbor for help.
Thankfully we all survived - mostly smoke damage to the basement and the neighbor's lungs, another grounding for me and an atta-boy for Wes for his quick thinking which mitigated the fire damage. Yes, I know, bitter, bitter.
Welcome
I am finding it difficult to start this blog. Where to begin? What to say? Frankly, I'm a little nervous as I know when the memories start flowing, so will the tears. But it was my idea and unfair to expect others to contribute if I'm not brave enough to do it myself.
So here we go...Weston would be 31 this year. It's been almost 11 years since his passing. Every time I reminisce with family, friends, or alone, I realize how little I knew my brother. We had seven years between us. We didn't share friends or activities. Mostly we just shared parents, a house, most dinners and the occasional fight for 11 years. Then I was gone to South Africa, Durango, Alaska and Rhode Island for the next nine years and our communication lessened even more. Mostly my parents would update us on the whereabouts and activities of the other.
Now I realize how I took for granted that my family would always be there. I was very self-absorbed and caught up in my adventures and life. I figured they'd be waiting for me when I got home and chose again to spend time with them. If only that were the case.
When Weston went to college in Santa Rosa, we began to write a bit more. If only e-mail had been as mainstream then as it is today, I think we would've been able to bring our lives back together.
I would send Wes things at school that I thought would interest him - magazines, books, CDs, etc., but I fear I didn't know him well enough to get him the right things. Although I do know the steaks I sent him were a slam dunk - he was always a big meat eater. Hopefully the gestures were enough for him to know I was thinking of him.
So here we go...Weston would be 31 this year. It's been almost 11 years since his passing. Every time I reminisce with family, friends, or alone, I realize how little I knew my brother. We had seven years between us. We didn't share friends or activities. Mostly we just shared parents, a house, most dinners and the occasional fight for 11 years. Then I was gone to South Africa, Durango, Alaska and Rhode Island for the next nine years and our communication lessened even more. Mostly my parents would update us on the whereabouts and activities of the other.
Now I realize how I took for granted that my family would always be there. I was very self-absorbed and caught up in my adventures and life. I figured they'd be waiting for me when I got home and chose again to spend time with them. If only that were the case.
When Weston went to college in Santa Rosa, we began to write a bit more. If only e-mail had been as mainstream then as it is today, I think we would've been able to bring our lives back together.
I would send Wes things at school that I thought would interest him - magazines, books, CDs, etc., but I fear I didn't know him well enough to get him the right things. Although I do know the steaks I sent him were a slam dunk - he was always a big meat eater. Hopefully the gestures were enough for him to know I was thinking of him.
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