(Part 3 -- story of Pat Kidd)
Pat loved animals, and he played a lot with our dog Anna when we lived on Volder. Poor Anna took a lot of abuse, because Pat could be pretty rough, even though he was not malicious. Pat loved holes as well as dogs, and one day he shoved Anna down a storm drain on our street. For a while, Anna was out of sight, but we could hear her down there. Fortunately, it was not a bottomless pit, and God sent a man, who was able to get down in the storm sewer and rescue our pet. On another occasion we were all visiting my cousin Phyllis somewhere in East Texas, and Pat was outside with some other kids and with Phyllis' dog. We were in the house - Grandmother Woods was there too - when a messenger rushed in with the urgent word that Pat had thrown the dog down the well. We all hurried outside and looked into the depths, and sure enough, that little dog was dog-paddling for its life and looking up at us with pleading eyes from maybe 15 feet down. Lord, have mercy. The dog would surely tire and drown, if we could not find a way to lift it out. We were all agonizing over what to do. Phyllis had an inspiration. She got a basket and rope, and we lowered it down to the dog, and the dog climbed aboard, and we pulled it up ever so carefully, just hoping the basket wouldn't tip. I think people must have been praying, because miraculously that poor dog rose into the sunlight, drenched but not seriously hurt. Afterwards, Grandmother Woods wondered, "What got into Pat, to make him do such a thing?" She said she thought it must have been the devil that got into him, and I said, "Oh, Grandmother, it wasn't the devil that got into Pat. That's just the way Pat is, He loves dogs, and he loved holes. It just made sense to him to put the dog down the hole." But since then, I have often wondered what does get into people to do outrageous things. With Pat, though, there was no meanness and no comprehension of consequences.
My mother always considered Pat innocent, and precious, and her little angel. I remember the day when Pat and I were both young, and our family was visiting a historical site at Vickburg, MS, I think it was. I just remember that we were all walking in a park-like area, and it was very dry, and there were large cracks in the ground, and Pat was flipping Mama's bracelet because it was wide and flexible and flipped really well. It was Pat's favorite flipping device at the time, and it was also one of Mama's favorite pieces of jewelry. You know what happened next. Down the crack it went. Way down. We couldn't even see it. Probably it's still there. And when he would do something like that, Pat would be so pleased, and he'd want to talk about it. "Where's bracelet?" When he got older, he learned to spit, and if you didn't watch out, he'd go to the guardrail at the mall and lean over and spit to the lower level.
Although Pat was in some ways an adult, he remained in other ways childlike. He depended on his family. He loved us, and he loved his other relatives and friends. Pat loved people in general and was not at all shy. He would put his arm around a stranger who looked interesting. At a restaurant, when he wasn't eating, Pat might gravitate toward another table, if the people there looked to be having a good time. I always thought a person should mind his own business, but Pat was not like that, and I was often embarrassed by his uninhibited outreach, especially to young girls. Lord, have mercy. If Pat got an opportunity to make contact with a pretty high school girl with a pleasing personality, he would leave his father and mother and brother, and go sit with her, and maybe put his arm around her. Thus he would do, naturally and innocently, what I would never in a million years have dared to do. People hardly ever took offense, though, at Pat. I was embarrassed many times, but in a way I admire Pat's uninhibited approach.
July 20, 2011
July 19, 2011
a brother's tribute (Part 2)
(Part 2 -- story of Pat Kidd)
Pat liked to go walking a couple of times a day; he and my dad took mostly the same route through the mall or in the neighborhood. They were a familiar sight on the street. People would talk to them. Of course, when Pat went out for a walk, it was more of a stroll. One problem was that he didn't see very well. His eyes didn't line up quite right, and he had trouble judging depth, and he was afraid of falling. As he got older, he became still more cautious; when he reached a curb and would have to step up or down, he would wait until he could hold on to somebody.
Pat might say, "Time for exercise," but he never stressed himself. He didn't push himself, and he had all the time in the world. Slowly he would move, and he tended to develop habits such as stopping for rest every block or so, and stopping to lean over and pull up his socks. After a walk, he would want a drink from the refrigerator, a "bubbly" as they called it. "Time for bubbly" would come twice a day. Pat would go to his favorite chair in the living room and pull the tab on the can and listen to the hiss, and sigh like he had worked all day, and relax and enjoy the reward of his labor. "Tired out. Workin' hard."
Pat had a wonderful sense of humor. He found other people humorous and would imitate them. Pat would feed on the emotions and the mannerisms of people around him, and would reflect those back. Esther Sanders, who came over to do housework for us, talked like a black woman because she was a black woman, and Pat would try to talk like her. "Pat," she would say, "you mockin' me." Pat would mock anyone. He loved to imitate the distinctive voice of his Aunt Martha calling her husband; "Bruce, would you bring me my sweater?" The more we would get tickled at Pat, the more he would pile it on: "Bruce!" Pat loved to tease. He would say, "Mama, short legs," and an impish grin would come over his face, and Mama would say, "Now, Pat..." We'd start laughing and Pat would just keep laying it on: "Mama, short legs" over and over again until he had milked that one for all it was worth. Pat loved it when people laughed, even if they were laughing at him. Bill Gafford was a big man with the biggest laugh I have ever heard; he would come over, and when he would laugh, he would open his mouth way wide, and Pat just loved to imitate Bill - and his wife, Margaret, and daughter Linda. Pat would imitate his uncles too. Uncle Wilbur used to have a distinctive expression that he used frequently: "Oh shush!" Pat picked up on that and said it over and over.
Pat was a creature of habit. Early on in his life, he began making the distinctive sound that we called "gooking." No one else could replicate that sound, which he made by squeezing air through his throat and nose. Pat might gook at any time, but he tended to do it more when he got tired. He would gook before going to sleep; he might even start gooking on the phone while the rest of us were talking. We would tell him to stop, and maybe he would stop temporarily, but then he would start up again. Gooking was a habit that Pat continued for most of his 50 years, and it became a familiar sound to all who knew him. Sometimes kids would hear Pat gooking and would look funny and ask, "What's he doing?" We could only say, "He's gooking; it just something he does." Another habit of Pat was his rocking; he would rock back and forth, whether he was in a rocking chair or not. The other habit was "flipping." He would find some object such as a piece of paper or a bracelet and gently flip it back and forth. Other times he would not use an object but would flip his hand and fingers back and forth. Sometimes he flipped and rocked and gooked simultaneously.
Pat liked to go walking a couple of times a day; he and my dad took mostly the same route through the mall or in the neighborhood. They were a familiar sight on the street. People would talk to them. Of course, when Pat went out for a walk, it was more of a stroll. One problem was that he didn't see very well. His eyes didn't line up quite right, and he had trouble judging depth, and he was afraid of falling. As he got older, he became still more cautious; when he reached a curb and would have to step up or down, he would wait until he could hold on to somebody.
Pat might say, "Time for exercise," but he never stressed himself. He didn't push himself, and he had all the time in the world. Slowly he would move, and he tended to develop habits such as stopping for rest every block or so, and stopping to lean over and pull up his socks. After a walk, he would want a drink from the refrigerator, a "bubbly" as they called it. "Time for bubbly" would come twice a day. Pat would go to his favorite chair in the living room and pull the tab on the can and listen to the hiss, and sigh like he had worked all day, and relax and enjoy the reward of his labor. "Tired out. Workin' hard."
Pat had a wonderful sense of humor. He found other people humorous and would imitate them. Pat would feed on the emotions and the mannerisms of people around him, and would reflect those back. Esther Sanders, who came over to do housework for us, talked like a black woman because she was a black woman, and Pat would try to talk like her. "Pat," she would say, "you mockin' me." Pat would mock anyone. He loved to imitate the distinctive voice of his Aunt Martha calling her husband; "Bruce, would you bring me my sweater?" The more we would get tickled at Pat, the more he would pile it on: "Bruce!" Pat loved to tease. He would say, "Mama, short legs," and an impish grin would come over his face, and Mama would say, "Now, Pat..." We'd start laughing and Pat would just keep laying it on: "Mama, short legs" over and over again until he had milked that one for all it was worth. Pat loved it when people laughed, even if they were laughing at him. Bill Gafford was a big man with the biggest laugh I have ever heard; he would come over, and when he would laugh, he would open his mouth way wide, and Pat just loved to imitate Bill - and his wife, Margaret, and daughter Linda. Pat would imitate his uncles too. Uncle Wilbur used to have a distinctive expression that he used frequently: "Oh shush!" Pat picked up on that and said it over and over.
Pat was a creature of habit. Early on in his life, he began making the distinctive sound that we called "gooking." No one else could replicate that sound, which he made by squeezing air through his throat and nose. Pat might gook at any time, but he tended to do it more when he got tired. He would gook before going to sleep; he might even start gooking on the phone while the rest of us were talking. We would tell him to stop, and maybe he would stop temporarily, but then he would start up again. Gooking was a habit that Pat continued for most of his 50 years, and it became a familiar sound to all who knew him. Sometimes kids would hear Pat gooking and would look funny and ask, "What's he doing?" We could only say, "He's gooking; it just something he does." Another habit of Pat was his rocking; he would rock back and forth, whether he was in a rocking chair or not. The other habit was "flipping." He would find some object such as a piece of paper or a bracelet and gently flip it back and forth. Other times he would not use an object but would flip his hand and fingers back and forth. Sometimes he flipped and rocked and gooked simultaneously.
July 18, 2011
meet Pat Kidd through his brother's tribute (Part 1 of 5)
As mentioned in my previous post, I would like to share with you the tribute that was written for Lee Patrick Kidd (Pat) upon his passing in 2006. It touched me greatly and I hope it speaks to you too.
Funeral - Saturday 12-16-06
Connell Baptist Church, Fort Worth, Tx
Growing up in this church, I learned the importance of what Pastor Ira Bentley called "simple, childlike faith." I was maybe 10 y ears old when at the end of a Sunday morning service here, I answered the invitation to profess my faith. There was no test to take or class to go through. Brother Bentley just simply asked if I trusted in Jesus as Lord and Savior, and I told him yes. Then the congregation voted me in, and that very night I was baptized. Later, when I went to Princeton Seminary, I learned a lot more about the Bible and theology, but it was always "simple, childlike faith" that motivated me, and that has not changed. Jesus said, "Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven." Taking a child in his arms, he told his disciples, "Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me." Jesus said, "Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." The 20th century theologian Karl Barth wrote many volumes perhaps hard to understand; but at seminary I learned that when Barth was asked by a student to sum up briefly what he had been writing over a lifetime, Barth said, "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so." There is no substitute, is there, for "simple, childlike faith."
The life's work of my brother Pat was to keep bringing us back to the humble basics of love and hope and "simple, childlike faith." What is essential? What is necessary? Pat did not put on airs. He was who he was. At the table he didn't bother with pleasantries - "Don't talk, eat." Early, he learned what a hamburger was, but he would say "ruh-ruh-ruh" for hamburger because he couldn't articulate the word. I used to work with pat on that when we would go to Dairy Queen and eat our burgers and drink our malts in the car. "Pat, can you say 'hamburger'?" "Ruh-ruh-ruh" he would respond. You know, women often notice that men are not very verbal; well, Pat was an extreme case. Eventually, he did learn to pronounce words correctly, but he never really got the hang of speaking in sentences. Instead, he would throw out some key words: "Time for lunch. How 'bout Luby's" Just the basics.
But Pat was perceptive about what was happening, how people were feeling, and what the day's schedule was. Like his father and like his brother, Pat craved routine. F or a long time the day would begin with a Carnation instant breakfast. A glass of milk would be let for him in the refrigerator, and when he was ready, he would come into the kitchen and get out the glass and go get a spoon and get the packet of instant breakfast and pour the powder in, and stir, and stir, and stir. At the workshop where Pat worked, a girl with Down Syndrome was given the name "Christmas" because she was so slow. Well, Pat wasn't quite that slow, but he was slow. Eventually he would finish stirring and take his instant breakfast into the living room and sit in his favorite chair and drink at his leisure.
Usually he was pretty cooperative about fitting into the family's plans but he would not be rushed, and often it took a lot of persuasion and explanation on Mama's part to motivate, especially when something different was being required of him. Pat enjoyed doing things the same way every day, opening and closing the curtains, turning lights on and off, and managing the television with the remote. Pat, whose life was pretty much managed by others from first to last, found ways to assert himself and claim control. Sometimes it seemed to me that he was the one who ran the place. Mama would select some nice clothes for Pat to wear for an outing but after the outing Pat would go to his room, take off his nice clothes, and slip into something well worn.
(continued next post...)
Funeral - Saturday 12-16-06
Connell Baptist Church, Fort Worth, Tx
Growing up in this church, I learned the importance of what Pastor Ira Bentley called "simple, childlike faith." I was maybe 10 y ears old when at the end of a Sunday morning service here, I answered the invitation to profess my faith. There was no test to take or class to go through. Brother Bentley just simply asked if I trusted in Jesus as Lord and Savior, and I told him yes. Then the congregation voted me in, and that very night I was baptized. Later, when I went to Princeton Seminary, I learned a lot more about the Bible and theology, but it was always "simple, childlike faith" that motivated me, and that has not changed. Jesus said, "Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven." Taking a child in his arms, he told his disciples, "Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me." Jesus said, "Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." The 20th century theologian Karl Barth wrote many volumes perhaps hard to understand; but at seminary I learned that when Barth was asked by a student to sum up briefly what he had been writing over a lifetime, Barth said, "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so." There is no substitute, is there, for "simple, childlike faith."
The life's work of my brother Pat was to keep bringing us back to the humble basics of love and hope and "simple, childlike faith." What is essential? What is necessary? Pat did not put on airs. He was who he was. At the table he didn't bother with pleasantries - "Don't talk, eat." Early, he learned what a hamburger was, but he would say "ruh-ruh-ruh" for hamburger because he couldn't articulate the word. I used to work with pat on that when we would go to Dairy Queen and eat our burgers and drink our malts in the car. "Pat, can you say 'hamburger'?" "Ruh-ruh-ruh" he would respond. You know, women often notice that men are not very verbal; well, Pat was an extreme case. Eventually, he did learn to pronounce words correctly, but he never really got the hang of speaking in sentences. Instead, he would throw out some key words: "Time for lunch. How 'bout Luby's" Just the basics.
But Pat was perceptive about what was happening, how people were feeling, and what the day's schedule was. Like his father and like his brother, Pat craved routine. F or a long time the day would begin with a Carnation instant breakfast. A glass of milk would be let for him in the refrigerator, and when he was ready, he would come into the kitchen and get out the glass and go get a spoon and get the packet of instant breakfast and pour the powder in, and stir, and stir, and stir. At the workshop where Pat worked, a girl with Down Syndrome was given the name "Christmas" because she was so slow. Well, Pat wasn't quite that slow, but he was slow. Eventually he would finish stirring and take his instant breakfast into the living room and sit in his favorite chair and drink at his leisure.
Usually he was pretty cooperative about fitting into the family's plans but he would not be rushed, and often it took a lot of persuasion and explanation on Mama's part to motivate, especially when something different was being required of him. Pat enjoyed doing things the same way every day, opening and closing the curtains, turning lights on and off, and managing the television with the remote. Pat, whose life was pretty much managed by others from first to last, found ways to assert himself and claim control. Sometimes it seemed to me that he was the one who ran the place. Mama would select some nice clothes for Pat to wear for an outing but after the outing Pat would go to his room, take off his nice clothes, and slip into something well worn.
(continued next post...)
July 5, 2011
what I needed
Dear reader,
When I started writing this blog last February I hoped people who had family members with Down syndrome would read it, especially those with siblings having Ds. At that time I was feeling alone with my concerns about Erik's future and the uncertainty of his old age. I craved connection with others who were walking the same road. I was thinking of writing a blog, but just thinking. Truth be told I was nervous about the writing part, but my hope overcame my fear. Especially after I talked to Marjorie.
Two months prior to becoming a blogger, I was fortunate to be put in touch with Marjorie, who lives about an hour away from me. Marjorie's niece knew I had a brother with Downs and she got us connected because Marjorie's son, Pat, had had Downs. We spoke on the phone about Pat and about Erik. It was just what I needed - to talk with someone who understood, and hear about their journey. She told me that Pat passed away at age 50 (Erik's age at the time). He had been gone for almost 5 years and she still missed him every day, she said. She wanted to know how Erik was doing physically and she understood all the things we were experiencing. Talking to her was like being wrapped up in a warm quilt of "yes, dear, I know" which she actually said. Felt so good to hear that.
After our conversation I mailed her a copy of a newspaper article about Erik. She sent me a copy of something written by Pat's brother, which he shared at Pat's funeral, a tribute to Pat. When I sat down to read it, it was like opening up an even bigger door of understanding. Pat's brother beautifully wrote about his life, what it was like having him in the family and about the end of his life. I didn't feel alone any more. I would like to post this beautiful tribute on my blog. Look for it in the next few weeks--it might be just what you needed.
I hope you're all having a wonderful summer.
When I started writing this blog last February I hoped people who had family members with Down syndrome would read it, especially those with siblings having Ds. At that time I was feeling alone with my concerns about Erik's future and the uncertainty of his old age. I craved connection with others who were walking the same road. I was thinking of writing a blog, but just thinking. Truth be told I was nervous about the writing part, but my hope overcame my fear. Especially after I talked to Marjorie.
Two months prior to becoming a blogger, I was fortunate to be put in touch with Marjorie, who lives about an hour away from me. Marjorie's niece knew I had a brother with Downs and she got us connected because Marjorie's son, Pat, had had Downs. We spoke on the phone about Pat and about Erik. It was just what I needed - to talk with someone who understood, and hear about their journey. She told me that Pat passed away at age 50 (Erik's age at the time). He had been gone for almost 5 years and she still missed him every day, she said. She wanted to know how Erik was doing physically and she understood all the things we were experiencing. Talking to her was like being wrapped up in a warm quilt of "yes, dear, I know" which she actually said. Felt so good to hear that.
After our conversation I mailed her a copy of a newspaper article about Erik. She sent me a copy of something written by Pat's brother, which he shared at Pat's funeral, a tribute to Pat. When I sat down to read it, it was like opening up an even bigger door of understanding. Pat's brother beautifully wrote about his life, what it was like having him in the family and about the end of his life. I didn't feel alone any more. I would like to post this beautiful tribute on my blog. Look for it in the next few weeks--it might be just what you needed.
I hope you're all having a wonderful summer.
June 22, 2011
Neighbors, old and new
neighbors old
I just returned from a funeral that left me grateful and awe-struck by a life well-lived. I feel blessed because I was privileged to know this person who touched Erik life -- and thus, mine too.Bonnie Ewing passed away last Sunday after a difficult bout with cancer. She and her husband, Mort, were Erik's neighbors during the time he lived in the condo near the hospital and that's how we came to meet them.
I knew from the few times I was around her that Bonnie was a kind, fun, friendly woman. After hearing her son and her pastor speak of her today I learned she was also a serving, caring, encouraging, welcoming, tough, and devoted woman.
What an example she is to me. She loved well right up to the end of her 85 years.
When Erik lived next door to her she helped him when he needed it. I'm sure she came to his rescue in more ways than we know. Sometimes Erik's garage door wouldn't get closed and Bonnie would watch out for that. Whenever Erik couldn't unlock his front door he'd head over to Bonnie's and call dad or me. When Erik visits this area he always wanted to stop by their house and say Hi -- and Bonnie and Mort were always so happy to see him.
You know how when we move somewhere we wonder: who will we meet in this new place? We didn't know sweet Bonnie would be next door when Mom bought the condo for Erik. It was one of those delightful blessings. Proverbs 31 was read at Bonnie's funeral. One verse stuck out to me: She opens her hand to the poor, yes she reaches out her filled hands to the needy. v.20
neighbors new
Two weeks ago our family moved into a new house. I've not written in quite a while because the move was so much work. And ugh, the Texas heat really wiped us out.
May 18, 2011
more on Erik's influence.
"What do you like about Erik?"
FROM UNCLE BOB
One time when we were at Mamie's, he and I were out in the car and he started with, "Uncle Bob you are my favorite uncle." We talked about that for a few minutes before he said, "Oh Uncle Bob, I sure am hungry for some good old Memphis barbecue. I told him I was as well, "I tell you what Mr. Moneybags, why don't you take me out to lunch? I'll drive us there and you pay." ( He had been bragging about how much money he had.) "No, Uncle Bob, Mamie wants you to take me for barbecue. I'm not supposed to pay for you." This went on for about 10 minutes before I gave in and took him to get barbecue. As we ate, he let me know how much he was enjoying it, and on the way out he said, "You and Uncle Ed are my favorite uncles!"It has been a long time since I last saw Erik so I am not sure what he is like today. But, one of his strengths is that he is (most of the time anyway) in a good mood, ready to joke around and tease.
FROM UNCLE ED
His sweet and gentle nature...he is very sharp and has had a great memory..I always love to tease him because he takes it so well...He has a good heart.. He is an inspiration to me because I never see or hear him complain..He has a great attitude and is an example for others to follow.
FROM MY HUSBAND, MIKE
I like that Erik is kind to people. He's rarely cross with people, and then it's usually when it's provoked. I like Erik because he prays for me, and I believe that God listens to him. Erik is a hard worker who focuses on his tasks, and that's an amazing quality. He takes initiative to express appreciation, and that's a tender thing to see in him. Erik enjoys people, whether they be familiar friends or strangers.
I met Erik when we were both in our young 20's and I was dating his sweet sister. I knew by marrying Liz that Erik would play an important role in the rest of our lives together. Being with Erik teaches me to slow down, not to be in such a rush, and to enjoy people. Having Erik as a brother in-law has also challenged me to be less self-centered and to think of others' needs. In Erik, God has given me a constant reminder that if you extend kindness to "one the least of these, you have done it unto me." When I read about God's defense of the weak and His calling to us to defend the weak, I know God is thinking about Erik (among many others).
anything else to add?
It's fun to see Erik laugh. Yes it is!
nnnnn
May 12, 2011
Erik - more stories
A few weeks ago I sent a question to some of our family members asking "What do you like about Erik?" I received the response below from Rachel, who married our step-brother, Chris. She's known Erik a long time and her beautiful answer was a little trip down memory lane. Thank you Rachel.
"What do you like about Erik?"
I love Erik because he has such a sweet, gentle child-like nature. I don't think he has a mean bone in his body. He always has a beautiful smile on his face. I remember when I first started dating Chris...Erik liked Bernadette! (Erik's long-time girlfriend) EVERY time I would see him he would pull out his wallet and show me a picture of Bernadette and I got to hear stories about her. He made ME feel important because he was sharing with me. Chris, Ashley and I had so many good laughs and good times with Erik.
I also remember when he lived with that lady for a while....there was the coke money saga. Erik would spend his weekly money on diet coke and he wasn't supposed to. I remember your dad would give him envelopes with his weekly money in it. I can't tell you how MANY I would hear your dad on the phone with Erik in the middle of the week and he was out of money. Remember when the lady he was living with said Erik wasn't changing his underwear? That was a whole ordeal! (well, unfortunately we're still dealing with this one) CUTE stories!
But, the best one of all is when my dad had surgery at Baylor (hospital where Erik worked. Read about it here). My mom and I were in the waiting room and Erik frequented the hallway near the waiting room. He was like a celebrity! SO many people knew him and you could tell they thought so highly of him. I bet I heard 30-40 "hello Erik's!" I wanted to tell the whole world that he was family.
Erik is just a one of a kind person. Even Lexie (our dad's dog) finds gentleness and something special in Erik. She chooses Erik's lap over most others. The last time I saw Erik at Christmas, most times Lexi was curled up in Erik's lap!
This makes me smile. Erik does have a way with animals. Erik and dogs seem to communicate love and acceptance to each other without words.
And, oh my, Erik and his sodas - tread carefully, that's dangerous territory. He'd finish work and that would be his reward. He'd day "Dad told me - drink diet!" then he'd pat his belly and say, "cuz, you know".
May 8, 2011
through Erik's eyes
Our Aunt Diane recently shared this memory of my brother with me:
I always loved Erik -- and have so many memories of him playing the guitar at Mamie's and singing "Little Green Apples". I will never forget the lesson he taught me when our families met at the beach one summer. He and I would go out shell hunting and he would come back with every shell he found -- whether it was broken or not -- he treasured every one. By the end of the week his washed shells covered the railings of the deck! I have told that story many times because I think we all need to be able to see beauty like that -- even in the "broken" things of life.
 |
| beauty in the broken things. |
May 4, 2011
siblings in the 60's
We grew up in the 60's.
Shag carpet and paneling were in the living room. Our mom had a crazy beehive hairdo. Our parents listened to Herb Alpert and Frank Sinatra. In the above picture Becky and I are wearing dresses made by our dear grandmother Mamie. Erik's holding our puppy, Hopi. I'm guessing it was Easter Sunday and my mom must have been expecting our younger brother.
I love these 2 pictures. They make me think of much simpler times. They also cause me to ask...what would our family have been like if Erik hadn't had his handicap?
What would it have been like for us to have an older brother who filled the role of an older brother? Would he have been bossy...or protective over us? Would he have resembled our mom or our dad more in his personality? What would he have pursued as a career?
Because of our situation there was a time when Erik and I were at the exact same developmental stage. Then I passed him up. I assumed the role of first born even though I was born 2nd. So later on, I babysat endlessly, I had to be responsible but I got to be the bossy one. (Watch out.)
If Erik hadn't had his handicap I'm sure that today I would not be managing his legal, financial, medical or travel affairs. If he hadn't had his handicap he might be a husband and a daddy today. He wouldn't have needed to trust every cashier he's ever done business with -- that they are taking the correct amount of money from him and giving him the correct change back.
These 4 kids on the couch are grown up. The baby brother is now an airline pilot and daddy, younger sister is now an involved wife and mom of 3, I'm now a wife and mom of 2...and Erik is Erik. We love him just as he is and wouldn't change a thing about him being our brother. His life has been amazing. My heavenly Father is sovereign; He makes no mistakes and I'm glad to know that and trust Him.
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