My Gentle Brother: By Barbara Brunner

I was the dominant one. David was quiet, gentle, and easygoing from the beginning. Although I was born three minutes after my twin brother, I took on the role of “big sister” right away. I was rambunctious and active, even before birth. It was probably because I was making so much commotion in my mother’s womb that her doctor tried to assure her that she was carrying “one large baby” instead of the two she tried to convince him of. He heard only one heartbeat, and I am sure it was mine because I was probably “lying on David”, something I hear I did a lot of after birth.


I took care of David. On our first day of kindergarten when it was time to go in from recess, I refused because I could not find him. In the fourth grade, I went to talk with David’s teacher to set her straight because she had been unfair to him about something, or so David thought. David really did need to be taken care of - he was an accident looking for a place to happen. When we were three years old, he almost died from a near-fatal concussion when he fell ten feet into the deep end of our empty swimming pool. At age four, he walked off the end of a pier. Luckily, we were avid swimmers, and my dad just reached down into the water and pulled him out. At age six, David broke his wrist while climbing a fence. At age ten, a dog bit him in the throat which required stitches. When we were 16, while driving he reached under the car seat for something and totaled his car. At 23, while cleaning his rifle, he accidentally shot himself in the stomach. After he was married, he was hit over the head with a baseball bat during a barroom fight, which caused him to have seizures for the rest of his life.

Considering his history of sometimes fatal and horrendous accidents, it was rather ironic what caused his death at age 36. Just a quiet accident that caused him no pain, only death.

Four years earlier, I had flown to Texas following David's divorce to help him drive back to Ohio. After having lived with our mother those four years, he had been seizure free for over a year and finally regained his drivers license, got hired at the postal service, was able to get his own apartment, and became independent at long last. He had recently seen and reconciled with his ex-wife and two small boys (who sadly didn't even remember him) when they visited relatives in Ohio. Things were definitely turning around for Dave, and life was looking good for a change. It was a short reprieve from the hardships he always seemed to face.

My mother had not heard from David for a few days, and she got concerned. She talked his very reluctant landlord into unlocking his apartment, and it was then that she found him on the floor next to the kitchen table. The autopsy revealed that he had died of asphyxiation three days earlier after choking on a piece of steak during supper. It was unclear if a seizure caused the piece of meat to come up into his throat from his stomach or if the meat was just too large to be swallowed. It didn’t matter. He was dead.

When my mother found David, she called me at work and told me what had happened. Two co-workers drove me to his apartment which was swarming with police. They would not let me see him, and I remember screaming at a police officer that I wanted to see my brother. I was not allowed, and was whisked off to the office where my mother was waiting for me.

I consoled my mother, and went into my “take charge” mode making many telephone calls. Later that afternoon at my mother's home when it actually sunk in what had happened, I broke down and cried uncontrollably for hours.

David was cremated. One of his boyhood friends from Florida flew up for the memorial service and took David’s ashes with him. He and several old high school buddies sprinkled them in the Atlantic Ocean while boating, something David had loved doing. Because he loved the outdoors, it was only fitting that David’s memorial service in Ohio was held at a local park. I had written some thoughts about my twin brother that I wanted to share at the service, but I could not: the minister who was officiating had to read them for me. I had written that David exemplified the word “gentle-man”, because he was such a kind and gentle person.

Early one morning a few weeks later while sitting at my desk at my job, I remember crying and asking God, “Why? Why did David have to die at such a young age?” The answer came almost audibly. “Death was David’s reward. He is with Me.” Whoa! The enormous amount of despair I was feeling vanished. I realized that because David was finally at peace, I should be too. David was in a far better place that anything this world has to offer. I was glad that his life struggles were over, but sad for me, my mother, our family, and especially for his boys.

There’s a verse in the Bible that says something like “the world was not worthy of them”, and every time I read that I think about David. He was too good for this world.

It has now been 27 years since David died, and I still cannot talk or write about him without the tears flowing. I miss him. I miss celebrating our birthdays together, and it saddens me greatly to realize we will never grow old together. Because David was not just my brother, but my twin brother, part of me died when he died, and there is nothing on this earth that can fill that void.

Life goes on. We have not seen David’s two sons since his death. We have lost touch with them; they are now both grown. The longer I live without David and endure the heartaches, trials and tribulations that no one is spared on this journey called life, the more I almost envy him for the wonderful life he is now enjoying. He was taken from us far too soon, but maybe he is, after all, the lucky one. And I look forward to seeing him again someday – something I am assured of because he was born again (received the gift of salvation) a few years before he died.

David: my gentle brother. A truly gentle man indeed. My twin brother - quiet, gentle and easygoing until the end

Apology of Love by: Rodney Green

Can you ever forgive me

For the things I said yesterday

Can you ever forgive me

For acting that way

Can you ever forgive me

For the pain I caused you

Can you ever forgive me

Trust I never meant to

Can you still believe in me

I’m sorry I’ve made you sad

Can you still believe in me

I’m sorry I’ve hurt you so bad

Can you still believe in me

If I promise to try more

Can you still believe in me

You’re the reason I live for

Will you still love me

For my love is true

Will you still love me

I’ll do anything for you

Will you still love me

You’re very special to my heart

Will you still love me

I never want us to part

The Things I Miss by Lee Forse

I miss my young body that could run down the street and bounce up the stairs without favoring my knees or huffing and puffing


I miss my mind that would remember entire pages of documents and now has trouble remembering why I went to the kitchen.

I miss my family and friends with whom I used to hang out, share confidences and dreams about the future and life’s problems, who have now passed on.

I miss my eyesight that could see far into the fields and the future and now needs glass assistance.

I miss my hopes and confidence that life stretches out before us in an unlimited amount of time and now realize how short our time is.

I miss the intimacy of a man trying to get your attention and lying spoon fashion next to him.

I miss my insides working the way they should without any help from the medicine cabinet.

I miss having conversations with friends about the world and its problems, not the physical ailments we have had.

I miss the children when they were young and had young problems, not the big, adult problems they now face.

I miss the hopes I had for my future and the hopes for closeness within the family.

I sigh over what I miss then realize what I have.

I have the ability to see the face of God in the beauty of a flower.

I have the ability to smile when I hear the laugh of a child.

I have the ability to realize what I cannot change.

I have the ability to accept the help I need.

I have the ability to enjoy friends and family.

I have the ability to like a good book or a silly show on T.V.

I have the patience to find peace in waiting for my time to be up and to join other loved ones in His arms.

I am like no one else, have memories like no one else, have talents like no one else, have issues like no one else, yet I am one of God’s children and we are all alike in that we miss what we had and need to remember what we still have. We continue to have so much and He has given us the ability to remember that and to thank Him.

Lee Forse

REVENGE FOR SANTA By Lee Forse

Dorothy filled the waiting cake pans then placed them in the preheated oven. She noted the time on the small clock built into the top of the stove and made a mental note on when the cake would be ready to be tested for doneness. She laid a slender wood cake tester on the counter in readiness for the testing. Glancing at the clock again, she realized that her two oldest girls should be arriving home from school any minute.

Right on time, Megan, eight and Colleen, almost seven, came bursting through the kitchen door. It was time for more mayhem in the house as the

two oldest girls brought with them their schoolbooks, jackets and inevitable

squabbling with the three youngest kids currently watching Howdy Dowdy

on the living room television.

Colleen lifted her nose in the air and sniffed hungrily. “Something

smells good.” Colleen was always hungry. Dorothy wasn’t sure how she

stayed so skinny with the amount of food she could pack away.

Dorothy smiled at the girls.  “What you are smelling is the cake I am

making for Jesus for his birthday. You can have some cookies from the

cookie jar and a glass of milk.”

By some sort of radar, the other three came trooping in from the living

room. “Cookies?” asked Sean, four. Sara, five was already pouring milk

and Patrick, two was attempting to climb onto a kitchen chair.

Dorothy just shook her head. There went another gallon of milk.

“Okay, everybody sit down. Megan, get some more glasses please.”

Megan, as the oldest was often asked to be mom’s helper, a role she

was not that fond of. Megan made a face but did get the glasses down and

all the children sat at the porcelain topped large table with the green painted

legs.

“Who would like to help me frost the birthday cake later?” Megan

and Colleen said they had homework and the boys looked horrified at doing

kitchen work. Shy Sara raised her hand. “I’ll do it mommy.”

“Thank you Sara. You get to lick the frosting bowl.”

A silence fell on the cookie munching kids. She hadn’t said the helper

would get to lick the bowl. That was considered a special treat and now

Sara was going to get to do it. Megan reconsidered but remembering the

argument she had had with Pete Monroe, decided she would rather go up to the room she shared with Colleen and think about ways to get him. She left the kitchen and half a cookie.

Dorothy raised her eyebrows at the cookie half and Colleen grabbed

it. Colleen said to her mother, “Megan’s mad.”

“What’s she mad about?”

“She got mad at Pete Monroe and wants to do something to him.”

Dorothy was a little alarmed at this as Megan had the Irish temper of

her father’s family. Checking the clock on the oven, she decided that she

had time to go upstairs and find out what was bothering Megan.

She found Megan sitting on her bed staring into space. She

considered asking what was wrong then decided the direct approach was

best. “Megan, did you have a fight with Pete Monroe?”

“He says there isn’t any Santa Claus. I told him I knew he existed,

that I had seen him. I tried to tell him that he just needed to believe. He just

laughed and said I was wrong and acting like a little kid. He laughed at me.”

Megan was starting to tear up then clenched her fist and hit the bed.

“I’ll get him.”

Dorothy hugged her daughter. “No, no you won’t get him. A lot of

people don’t believe in Santa Claus. He is the spirit of Christmas. You

don’t have to believe in Santa Claus to believe in the spirit of Christmas.

And remember the important thing, what Christmas is, the birth of Jesus.

That’s why I’m making a birthday cake for him for Christmas dinner. It’shis birthday.”

“I know Mom.” Megan was silent for a while. “But I did see him.”

“I know you did honey.”

“I’ll come help you with the cake.”

“That’s okay. You just do your homework. Sara will help me.”

“We really don’t have to do any homework until the night before the

end of Christmas break. I just didn’t want to do the cake.”

“I know. Why don’t you read a book. I have to get down and take the cake out of the oven.” Dorothy knew that reading a book would always be the top pick for Megan.

After dinner, which was the usual noisy time, the family went to

Christmas Eve mass. By the time the kids were in bed, probably not

sleeping right away due to the Christmas excitement, the exhausted parents had some time for themselves.

Colin was putting together a bike for Sean. The other bikes in the

family were girl bikes and Sean had begged for a boy bike. The red wagon

for Patrick also needed to have the handle put on. Margaret started putting

other presents, dolls, building blocks, a doll house and a few other toys

under the tree in the living room. With five children, they couldn’t afford a

ton of presents, but each child got one big present plus some smaller ones.

Margaret laid out the stockings which would be filled with smaller

goodies and an orange. Colin snorted, “Should we put a lump of coal in the

toe of each one for all the bad things they did during the year.”

Margaret laughed. “They probably wouldn’t know what coal is or

what it meant.”

Colin reached out and gave his wife a hug, then grabbed a cookie

from the plate on a table next to the fireplace. “Thanks for the cookies you

left for Santa.”

Dorothy thoughtfully looked at the plate the kids had left for Santa.

“Colin we need to tell Megan there is no Santa Claus.”

“Why?”

“Because she is eight years old and other kids are teasing her at

school. That story you told her about the neighbor’s Santa convinced her

there really is a Santa Claus.”

Colin laughed. “Well, I had to come up with something in a hurry.”

Megan had been five years old when she had seen a Santa Claus get out of a car and walk across the street into the neighbor’s house. Colin had told her that as it was raining, Santa had to come to the area in a taxi. Megan

absolutely believed him and had thought she had seen the true Santa. That

was the reason her faith in Santa was unshakeable.

“Colin, you made her believe in Santa. You have to tell her.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you! Tell her he is the spirit of Christmas. That he was a Saint

centuries ago but he is now just something people tell little kids. That’s it is

about magic and fun.”

“You think she’ll buy it?”

Dorothy sighed. “I’m afraid she is going to be upset and feel we lied

to her. But we have to tell her. She is too old to believe in Santa.”

Colin glumly nodded, not looking forward to the conversation with

Megan.

On Christmas morning, Dorothy and Colin woke Megan up before the

other children. “Shush. Come downstairs. We need to talk to you about

something.”

Megan rubbed at her eyes and wondered what her parents wanted.

She got more excited. Were they going to give her something special as the oldest? She put on the slippers Mom handed her and silently left the room. When they were downstairs, they didn’t go into the living room, but into the kitchen. What was going on?

Colin and Dorothy sat down at the kitchen table. Colin poured

himself a cup of coffee from the percolator and cleared his throat. “Uh,

hum, um, Megan sit down. Would you like a cookie? Glass of milk?”

Dorothy gave Colin a long look. “Colin. Get on with it. The other

kids will be awake any minute.”

Megan looked at each of her parents in turn. They both looked

serious. What was wrong? She was starting to get scared.

Colin cleared his throat again. “Uh, hum, um, Megan we wanted to

talk to you about Santa Claus.”

“Did he like the cookies we left out? Did he eat them?”

“Uh, yeah he did.”

“Colin!” interjected Dorothy.

“Okay, okay. Megan, there is no Santa Claus. He is just something

that we tell little kids to make Christmas magical and fun for them.”

Megan felt cold all over. She was stunned. What was he talking about?

“But I saw him!”

“No sweetheart you saw a man in a Santa Claus suit going to a party

at the neighbor’s. I told you it was Santa to keep up the fun for you.”

Megan felt confused. Then she felt betrayed. Then she felt mad.

Really mad. “So all you parents lie to all little kids?”

Dorothy put her arm around Megan. “I wouldn’t exactly call it lying

honey. Santa is the spirit of Christmas. Parents tell their kids about Santa

because he is magic and fun. You are a big girl now and now you know the

truth. Just don’t spoil it for the little kids, okay?”

Megan sat in stony silence. Dorothy asked again, “Okay?”

Megan eventually nodded even though she didn’t agree. She had

thought it was hard being the oldest before. But this! She had been so sure

that Santa was real! And thinking about Pete Monroe made her cringe

inside. No wonder he laughed at her. This felt horrible. She felt that she

had lost someone and something special. So she was a big girl. Big deal!

She still liked magic. She still liked fun. Lots of fun.

Her parents went up the stairs to wake the rest of the kids. The little

kids. The happy little kids who still believed in Santa Claus. The little kids

who were being lied to. Hu! She wondered when they were going to tell

them. Why shouldn’t they feel like this too? Well, maybe not the real little

kids, but what about her sister Colleen? Colleen went to school too. Why

should she still have magic and fun? Why indeed.

Megan gave an evil little laugh and went upstairs to wake her sister

and to tell her what her parents had told her about there being no Santa

Claus. Her parents didn’t want her to share the news but why not? Wasn’t it

time for Colleen to become a big girl too? If she couldn’t have Santa

anymore, neither would Colleen.

Lee Forse

4/11

THE IMPORTANT THINGS By Lee Forse

She had better hurry. John would be back any minute and she had

putt the wood into the stove to heat it only about 20 minutes ago. She had the biscuit mix already made but she had to brown the chicken pieces. They would have some vegetables from the garden to go with everything. Betsy wiped her brow off with her apron. She loved her stove but it sure heated up the room. No, that was not quite right. She didn’t just love her stove. She adored her stove and polished it every day. John had spent a fortune for it and it had come on the schooner from Detroit just last month after waiting for six months. It made Betsy feel that 1835 on the Maumee was getting more civilized.

 She smiled to remember John’s glowing description of the Maumee he gave her when he got back in 1814 from the war. He had been stationed at Fort Meigs and thought the river was beautiful. They had gotten married in Buffalo, New York in 1820 and it had taken him until 1830 and the chance to buy land to talk her into coming on the boat from Cleveland. What John hadn’t told her was about the forests, the Indians, the wolves, and the ague. Every spring just about everybody got sick when they first came here. Sweats, shakes and fevers. That first year it hit her so bad she got it every evening for two months. Eventually she had some resistance.

Betsy frowned at the wood box. Those boys were supposed to have filled it up this morning. They were off again, probably messing around in the old Fort ruins. She wished they would stay away from there. Not only were there a lot of  sharp objects in the earth but what would happen if they found an unexploded ball from the war? And besides, there were a lot of soldiers buried in that area. It really was a cemetery. She signed. Boys would be boys, and at 14 and 15 years of age, they were going everywhere and seeing everything. She had tried to teach them their letters and numbers and was very glad last year to turn over the rest of their education to the new school-teacher.

Perrysburg and Maumee had gone in together to hire this fellow, Mr. Bingham. This was going to be his second year of teaching and at least he hadn’t kicked out John Jr. and Frederick. They were always pulling pranks and Mr. Bingham had talked to Betsy and John about the boys at the end of last year. He had warned that if they continued, they would be out of his schoolroom. When John and Betsy had talked sternly to the boys they had sworn they would reform.

Betsy was about to go out the door of the cabin to the well with her pan to get water where there was a furious pounding on the door. Betsy was so startled she dropped the pan.  “Who is it?” she asked in a frightened voice.

“WHERE IS MY BELL!” The voice was male and furious.

Betsy opened the door to see Mr. Bingham, his suit rumpled, his rust

colored hair standing on end and his face a startling puce color. At least that is what she would think puce was like, kind of a cross between purple and reddish brown.

‘WHERE IS MY BELL! WHAT DID THEY DO WITH MY BELL?”

“Mr Bingham. What in the world are you talking about?”

‘YOUR HOOLIGANS TOOK MY BELL!”

Betsy gasped. “Your bell in missing?” She knew that Mr. Bingham had

been waiting for a school bell for the same length of time she had been waiting for her stove. He felt about his bell the same way she felt about her stove.

“Mrs. Sprocket. I implore you to get my bell back.” His voice broke and Mr. Bingham collapsed into a dining room chair, placed his elbows on the table and buried his face into his hands.

 Betsy was appalled and patted him repeatedly on the back.

 From the end of the lane where the Jones cabin was located there was a sound of laughing young coming down the lane toward them.

“Ha, ha, ha, what do you think he’s going to say?”

“Do you think he’ll even notice? Ta, ha, ha, ha”

“He was so proud of that bell. Just like my ma and her stove! Oh, oh, he,

he, he.”

The boys, hers and Grover Jones came tumbling into the cabin.

 The silence, while she and the boys stared at each other was profound. Their gaze darted to Mr. Bingham then to Betsy, then to Mr. Bingham.

Mr. Bingham opened his mouth to shout at the boys and Betsy held up her hand to stop him. Betsy glared at the boys.

“Go put the bell back now!

“Aw ma, we were just joking around. He was so proud of that bell.”

“He should be proud of that bell. It means education to this community and the ability to call all the students in the area to school. If Mr. Bingham agrees, you will be punished all this year by being the ones to ring that bell every morning.” She looked at Mr. Bingham who nodded agreement.”

“Aw ma, that means getting up earlier than everyone else.”

“That’s right. It is either that or I tell your fathers and they will give you alot harder punishment with their good right arms.”

John came in the door, looked at his sons with a stern look and said “what have they done now?”

“Mom, Mr. Bingham, we would be proud to ring that bell every day.”

“Sure will!”

John looked suspiciously at his wife.

“John, isn’t it wonderful. Your sons will be ringing the school bell all this year.

By: Lee Forse

5/09