To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time. ~Clara Ortega

It is what they call an Indian Summer... The Fall Equinox was just a couple of days ago yet fall weather has yet to be seen. Temperatures are going to rise to 97 degrees this afternoon. Boys are in school and the weekends are consumed with football- every bit of it. High School, College, Pro, and most importantly, pee wee. But during this amazing season a part of my heart is missing. My wound and memories are too fresh.


It was two years ago when I received the phone call. The car was entirely full of boys 9 and under. By God's Grace a girlfriend was with me. We were headed to a high school football game. But I had to quickly run into the house to grab something when I heard the phone ring. "Cathy, we found David in his hotel room. I am so terribly sorry"... I screamed. I fell to my knees. Please, I begged, do not let this be happening to me. It is too much. I cannot handle it. I REALLY cannot handle it.

But somehow I did handle it, but not without the aching on a regular basis. Brock held me up for as long as he could, but eventually I had to hold myself up. It was hard. While David was my oldest brother, all of my brothers became something different to me when Mom and Dad passed away. They were more cherished than ever. There is something about sharing childhood memories , some that are tough to grasp and some that have us rolling in laughter. Those memories, along with the tragic death of both parents bring siblings together. And although he was across the world in Hong Kong, I knew that I held part of his heart here with me.

So as the years have gone by, and the pain has slightly diminished, the reminder of that night is always fresh during the Indian Summers. Dealing with death is a funny thing. You can walk along and think you are doing just fine, and then the oddest thing can knock you back down on your knees with a memory. For me, it was the smell of the fresh cut grass that took me right back to his days in Pop Warner football. The air was sucked out of me just as it was that night I heard of his death. But I recover quickly, and smile at the memory