Today would be my eldest brother's 69th birthday. His name is Mark. Isn't he the handsomest young man? He was 15 when I was born, so I really only have memories of him as an adult. He taught me how to play checkers, with me on his lap, and Tim across the board. He would take my hand in his and hover over the checker. I served as his crane, picking up the checker and dropping it wherever he moved my hand.
His entrance into fatherhood was memorable, for sure, because they had not one, but two boys, and their birthday was yesterday, the day before his. Mark and Judy didn't know they were having twins, so it was back-to-back babies and back-to-back birthdays. I wasn't very old when they were born, but I remember that everyone was taken by surprise and running around looking for another one of everything - another crib, another high chair . . . and there was always a baby to hold, which was the best thing ever.
Mark loved being a dad. He had his back-to-back boys, Mike and Doug, and then Debbie and Kerry came along, his back-to-back girls. They lived through the field from us, and I spent my childhood happily babysitting my nieces and nephews, who were really more like my little brothers and sisters. Babysitting is the wrong word, because we grew up together, and I was grateful to have them so close.
Mark worked in the county assessor's office, but his dream was to be a farmer. He loved the land like our dad did. He also loved Willie Nelson songs, cheering his boys on as they played baseball and every other sport, and tickling his daughters, because their giggles were his favorite sound.
Mark always called me Jana Banana or Sis. It was never just Jana. I remember so many nights when I would babysit the kids while he and Judy would go on a date night, and when they got home, I should have just walked home through the field, but he knew what a scaredy-cat I was (am) and always grabbed a flashlight and walked with me through the field to deliver me at the door. He had this habit of spreading his hand flat on top of my head and shaking me while he said "G,night, Jana Banana."
Mark was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis when he was in his 30's. It hit hard and didn't give him very much time before he was incapacitated, bed-ridden, and left without speech. In a strange way, that is when I learned to communicate with my brother. If ever someone could say something with eye contact, it was him. He kept his hands tucked close to his chest, because with one muscle spasm he could lay you out flat. I remember looking at his hands and remembering the gentle, solid pressure of his hand on my head, shaking me g'night, and his hand holding mine steady above a checkers board. He was only 47 years old when he died - an age I have already surpassed.
The fact that this would be his 69th birthday keeps roaming through my head because our mom was 69 when she passed away. Mom and Mark both died in the same year; my mom in May, and Mark in October. Those few months in between were certainly not enough grieving before we were doing everything again. The funeral home people said "Back-to-back funerals are the hardest, because the wounds haven't had time to close." We were still feeling like 69 was such a young age for my mom to go, and then suddenly those extra years seemed a blessing compared to Mark's 47. Twenty-two years have passed, and Mark is just barely reaching the age Mom was at her death.
The funeral home people were right about back-to-back deaths, but in a weird sort of way, it has been reassuring and comforting to know that Mom was already there in Heaven when her oldest son joined her, and now, as more of our loved ones have moved on to Heavenly realms, that reassuring comfort continues, knowing that we have family watching out for each other there, too.
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