It's my brother Mark's birthday. He would have been 53 today if he hadn't died in a car crash at age 21. Strange how those kind of events change you. No, it's not strange, it's sad. I really loved my brother and was close to him. He was an great example to me, of what I needed to do. He was going to college and chasing his dream of being a law enforcement officer. While I didn't want to go into law enforcement, I really appreciated seeing him going to school, studying and working towards his dream. It made me feel that my dreams were possible, with some hard work.
I can still remember him and Dave Lindstrom coming up to Kings Canyon Nat'l Park to pick me up after my work summer there. They showed up and we had a night of partying with everyone there. I felt like shit the next morning. Got up and proceeded to puke my guts out in the shower. Then the drive down the mountain into the valley felt horrible. I could hardly wait to get to a straight road so there would be no more constant side-to-side motion. And when we made it to McDonald's down in the valley, it was damn near nirvana.
Mark was two years ahead of me in school. We didn't do much together in school. Got an occasional ride with him to some school dance or event but that would have been it. But didn't hang out much. He had a wonderful girlfriend through high school. Always nice to me and everyone else. Damn if I can't remember her name. Kathy, I believe. Her younger brother, Eric was a friend of mine in school.
Growing up, Mark and me would get in occasional fights, though the one that sticks out the most is the one where he punched me and my face turned into the bathroom door and I cut my eyebrow on the corner of the door. All of a sudden I was bleeding and he's quit fighting, telling me that I'm bleeding and we need to get it fixed. I didn't believe him. I turned and looked in the bathroom mirror. There was blood all over my face. I took a towel and put it against my the cut. We then proceeded across the street to our neighbor's house, since our mom was there. We walked in and she asked what was happening. I pulled the towel down and blood came gushing out again. One of the girls that lived there started to scream at the sight of the blood. It was kinda funny, even at the time. We then proceeded to the emergency room to get some stitches. The shot to deaden the area was one of the most painful shots I've ever had. They put the first shot in your temple. The needle felt about a foot long.
As I written before, Mark's death affected me greatly. I could not emotionally handle his death. I really don't think I've still gotten over it completely. I was retreating into myself, unable to share any emotions, other than anger with anyone. I didn't want to hear anyone say "I'm sorry for your loss. I don't know how you feel." I wanted someone to try to break through my emotional barrier and dig deeper into my feelings of anger, loss and grief. Reflecting back, I'm sure some people tried, but there is only so much rejection someone can take, before they say "enough". My mom had lost her Dad two weeks prior to Mark's death. So she was a emotional basketcase herself. All I really remember is her crying all the time. Anything and everything would set her off. I had no idea how to help her.
Through time, I noticed that I cared less and less about any achievements. I never went about setting any goals to achieve, since I didn't believe I was going to live past 21 years old. My grades reflected that attitude and suffered. I didn't want to be challenged in school. I quit running as passionately as I had in the past. I felt myself giving up on myself.
I remember my Dad telling me once, after Mark's death, that Mark was okay. My Dad had a dream in which Mark was swimming in a lake. He had been jumping off some rocks into the lake and just having a good time. Mark then told my Dad to come in and join him, that everything was wonderful. My Dad said he told Mark he couldn't but would see him later. It felt good to hear that from my Dad yet I never really was able to get into much of a discussion with my Dad about Mark's death and how it was affecting me. I think he was able to see how it was affecting me but I was unreceptive to anyone's attempts to reach out.
I had never been shown how to reach out for help in my life. Everything I've done has been done by me solely. I've never been a great team-player. Whether it was school projects or work projects, I always like hearing my opinion and doing it my way. I enjoyed competing in Cross Country and Track in high school and college because it was about me. I didn't have to be depended upon someone else to be successful. I measured my success by my performance. If the team did well, I helped the team. If the team didn't do well, then I could, and would, look at my performance and measure it individually. Was I narcisstic? Or just running to deal with my pain and emotions? I'll have to look at that further down the road. Right now I just want to remember my brother Mark.
I love you Mark. I miss you dearly.
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