Dead Young

I am struggling right now with the death of my nephew. He was my first nephew; born when I was 10 years old. I was the youngest in my family, so when he was born it was my first chance to have a baby to love.  Derek grew up some; he was 31.

I feel the distance between my family and myself more sharply than usual. I am so glad they are together right now, but I miss them. I miss Derek. Selfishly, and without reason - I miss him.

I don't have any art about this yet. There are no words.  Derek was a bright spark... He was complicated- and beautiful.

Derek and I when we were younger...

Two years ago our neighbor died. My husband has a knack for befriending. He and Bill became close over the last year or two Bill was alive. Bill, like all of us, was lovable but not easy to love.

My Neighbor

1.

He liked to flirt with me…

I’d rather give this cabinet to you than sell

Bill, with Joe and Georgia before our trip

it to a bunch of Mexicans. he’d say, My neighbor, he’s  a faggot,

but a helluva nice guy. Good

neighbor.

Bill had both hands gripped tight

to the wheel of the ‘89 Corvette

that he waxed two weeks

before. Thin, caved in chest –

out there in shorts, arms

moving in circles – making

her shine.

2.

Sitting in his camp chair-

watching birds eat crumbs, sores

seeping – eyes and nose running. Slowly

smoking that Winston – bitter ash. Ruminating,

family won’t return his calls. Brother

won’t start his Corvette. He worries

about the battery.

3.

His mom, Georgia, keeps him with her. She buys

him his favorite foods

He scared her when he was young.

Smoked pot and drank. Sold drugs –

one time she found a big black garbage bag

full of weed and –good Texas mama that she is-

threw it out. When he got home he came at her

like he was going to hit her

before running out the door. He didn’t

come back - except for his first wedding-

until Diabetes lost him his job

at the casino.

4.

When Georgia shows me the picture

of the wedding she wonders why he kept

the framed photo of him looking 70’s

handsome with Georgia’s second husband

who he hated standing a little too close

behind him like he was holding a knife to his back.

Now he is kept…. by her. Out of love – but he

is 46- and living at home.

5.

How should we mourn

this man. He walked

without a cane on brittle

legs falling over and again

he couldn’t allow the help he needed,

until gracefully and

without warning he would accept Joe’s arm

as he walked up the steep driveway.

Joe and I sitting next to him in his garage

watching the slow drift

as he falls asleep sitting up with the cigarette

and coffee still in his hand. At the last possible moment

Joe reaches out and touches his chest to keep him

from falling over. you’re so good to me Bill said smiling-

tender.

6.

Joe visits him nearly every day,

on good days they talk cars, bikes, music. Joe

knows that Bill needs to be what he always

has been,

A man- a cussing spitting fast-car driving

hard-drinking man with time

to get soft and misty eyed

later.

One morning, Bill is crying

and listening to the songs on the Sunday morning

radio.

Amazing Grace and a country

number about walking through a graveyard.

His crackling high

voice joining in, whispering then dropping away to nothing

while tears ran down his face

like he was a mourner

at his own Memorial. The one he forbids

us to have.

Now Joe and I sit vigil, in our garage

two doors down from Georgia’s. In folding

camp chairs, smoking cigarettes and trying

to dislodge our resentments, the ones

we haven’t managed to work into pearls yet.

Not wanting to end like Bill but also

wanting to snatch back for him what he couldn't get.

Two months later, Bill’s brother Bud rings

our doorbell. He has a gift bag in his hands. He says

It is from Bill. He bought it for you guys back when he

was watching your cats. Wow, I said

stupidly, It’s not every day you get presents from the dead.