Beloved Julie,
How we brothers miss you. How I wish you were still here to give a call, catch up, and feel your positive, intelligent, and understanding outlook. How I wish I could hug you, and offer safe refuge. How I wish.
You always lead the way, not by leading, but by modeling the best of humanity. Mom’s only little girl, you quickly became her domestic helper. Remember Mom teaching you how to use her Singer, and the “TV pillows” of distinctly colored corduroy you helped her make for each of us of? Dozens of hours we spent, resting on the pillows as we watched our favorite shows, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, The Flying Nun, Big Ben, etc., all the while drawing and coloring silly pictures on the backside of reams of throw-out AMC engineering paper. Your coloring was of a quality younger brothers envy. I remember you sharing your wishnik troll dolls and houses with us, playing below the shelves where your increasingly prolific library of young readers books were kept. You were the babysitter of pretty busy and often rascals of boys. Whenever we could, I admit we loved trampolining on your bed, attempting to bump our heads on the ceiling. Mom and Dad could count on you to hold down the fort for their weekly square dance, and put us to bed after ice cream, with their perfume and cologne still lingering in the air, the vision of Mom, slim-waisted, her volumous petty coats swooshing, and Dad’s fancy leather belt buckle and sharp-toed boots impressed on our memories.
You lead the way through formative years of school, lessons and social doings. Remember Mom signing us up for tap dance & tumbling? I still remember your black patent leather taps. Remember the years of accordion lessons? I can still smell the sweet old smell of the instrument cases upon opening, not only the accordions (yours red with pearly ivories) but also the organic, piney violin rosin scent from your Suzuki lessons. I remember when Mom finally admitted that you in your youth had surpassed her on violin. I still have our picture of us paired with our accordions, taken in the 60’s studio fashion. If not for you, Julie, I may not have ever started on a stringed instrument, for your devotion impressed Mr. Wade, the junior high string teacher, so much that he grabbed me and said my hand was big enough to play that spare string bass in the corner of the orchestra room. You also gave me the courage to sing in school chorus. Without you I would never have had the courage to sing in church choir. Remember our several years in Golden Strings, and the evening rehearsals you could finally drive us to, the strolling performances for local banquets while wearing the gingham outfits you helped make? How about the scary auditions of Kreutzer Etude No. 6 that Mr. Nosal required we play in front of the orchestra? I remember you sharing with me your personal stereo, speakers separated and against our ears as we lay on the floor, introducing me to the Carpenters, Neil Diamond (I’ll bet you’re still singing some of those songs, in your new home), Cat Stevens, Elvis Presley, the Nutcracker Suite. I still blush to remember you driving me with my high school girlfriend home from a social dance while we kissed in the back seat.
You were always the model student in academics, something for we boys to live up to. You were an early avid reader. You also loved being silly, something we probably learned from Mom, who often used to sing and dance while cooking supper, and always singing funny little songs. One of my very fondest memories was from that long hot summer when Mom had signed us up for a book club, and we sat on the garage steps reading In Johnny Crow’s Garden backwards till we cried for air in gut-bursting laughter. I still remember how you were always in the lead for the number of summer library books read. If your report card wasn’t all A’s there was something amiss. You loved math, and I remember Dad really enjoyed helping you once with some algebra, because he also loved math. You courageously joined the German club, and went on exchange to Germany, where after the first week you became very homesick. I remember your wonderful projects on DNA and anorexia, both of which introduced me to things I never knew existed. Even Mom and Dad were impressed with your love of organic chemistry. I feel I didn’t challenge myself in high school nearly as much as did you. I remember how even in your nursing program you excelled in the rigors of coursework. Julie, you were one smart student.
You lead the way and modeled for us the diligent course of catechism, silently impressed upon us the solemnity of confirmation, and taught us how to pinch our leg when we were overcome with potentially disruptive laughter in too long church services. We always sensed you were on the path to bettering your soul, modeling sincerity with gentle good-natured and intelligent humor.
I remember witnessing your social path through high school and college as you searched for and found companionship with someone from a younger class and a different group of friends who showed you how to enjoy a more partying side of life. And yes, we both grew up and found our own paths. No matter how many miles or years separated us, I could still connect with you. I saw you develop into a loving, tireless mother of two absolutely beautiful boys, who clearly thrived in your love. I saw you run a perfectly faultless household, clearly putting your entire being into motherhood. You never spoke ill of your mate, even though I sensed a quiet desperation within the strong, intelligent quiet. I remember feeling the need to offer you safe refuge not once, but several times over as many years, based on nothing you ever said, but upon my instinct that something was happening. But you held true to your family love, would not betray with so much as a word against yours. Was it out of devotion, or was it out of fear for yourself or your children if the truth were told? Julie, I know in my heart that you were under threat.
And then, I remember the horror of news of your demise. I saw you lying there in your casket looking like the last several years were a wrinkle in time. Was it the stress of feeling yourself dying without having the chance to hug your dear lovely children goodbye? Or was it the poisoning of a destructive relationship that turned you into the visage of a person twenty years your senior? Or was it the effect of physical poisoning? Oh my dear sister, what was your life like those last months? weeks? hours? minutes? I know I surely failed to reach out, didn’t try hard enough. Could not we have helped you?
Your Memorial was only words. Surreal words. Words disconnected with who you were and what you were, words representative of the inhuman forces that destroyed you. Words heard every Sunday by those who feel good about themselves hearing them. There were not the public declarations of your true pureness of devotion. Absent were the professing of how you brought out the best in people. Absent were true grit statements of the sensitive strength and quiet intelligence that you lived. Absent were the wailing and gnashing of injustice. Absent were the mysteries of your death. Absent were the truths of your death.
After the ceremony, your husband was giving away kitchen utensils and offering jewelry, cleaning out. Saying goodbyes to your boys tore my heart. I hugged David, your oldest. Then Douglas, who had seemed not to care about goodbyes, turned and ran to me with heartfelt desperation, crying out “Me, too.” Embracing the newly motherless little boy, behind his back, I felt the floodgates open. I can only pray that you felt that hug. Julie, I know you were watching, and weeping more than any living mortal can.
I miss you, and regret not being able to save your life. The world misses you. I feel all the world has been cheated of all of your goodness. I grieve that you and I will not sit together, old and gray, reflecting on our families, our shared childhood, our lives. These precious moments have been stolen from us. God bless your beautiful sons, who know only memories of your selfless love. We can only imagine how they have been cheated of genuine love, and pure truth.
All I can say from this point is that we must now live to see justice. Although life continues for we brothers, all with our own families and paths, it is certainly not the same without you. The world is minus one fine daughter, sister, mother. Minus one of the finest human beings the world has known. For this we continue to grieve, as well as for the fact that now, seven years after your slipping away to another life, no one is held responsible or accountable for your death. If I were you, I would find a way to be positive, as always you did in your correspondence throughout your too few years. And so, in attempting to adapt this attitude, I conclude that we will see justice done, for we must hold faith in truth, above all else.
I love you.
Your brother,
Mike
