Just a "remember" now...

I remember the day that I asked my mom for a baby sister. We were in the kitchen in the farm house. She was busy doing something. Washing dishes maybe? Cooking? I'm not sure. I remember the slant of the sun through the windows. And green fields stretching out of view outside. I remember dust motes in the air. I think something was cooking. Maybe it was supper time. I don't know if it was the first, the last, the only time. But I remember it. I don't remember why I thought I wanted a sister. I was certainly never very good at sharing. I liked baby dolls and playing momma. And I liked playing with other kids at school. Maybe I had it in my head that sisterhood was like that. A nice controlled, nuetral setting with a very definitive start and end time.

I remember sitting in the hospital the day that Ethan was born. I remember knowing that something wasn't right, though not being old enough to comprehend the potential consequences of something being wrong. I just knew the adults were fidgety. We had to wait too long. I don't know if I saw my mom or my new brother that day or not.

I remember having a Kool Aid fight in the kitchen. We were given juice boxes and Momma left the room to take a phone call. The bright red juice covered the walls. The fridge. The beautiful black and white tile floor. We were in so much trouble.

I remember a bobble-head dog that was broken when Ethan and I were running through the house. Playing one wild game or another. The terrified looks on our faces when it hit the floor. The elaborate re-glue and pretend it never happened job.

I remember days, weeks and even months spent wandering trails and bush-whacking our way through thick briars and underbrush as we roamed the acres of unmolested property surrounding our little farm house. The afternoons walking home from the bus stop and making our way down the mile long driveway to our home. Snow angels and snow men. Mucking stalls and tending critters. Riding double on horses. Days spent bouncing on trampolines. Evenings spent on a carport making up spooky stories.

I remember a little boy with dark blue eyes and the curliest blonde hair. Curls so pretty they brought a tear to your eye to see them cut. Freckled skin that sunburnt too easily. He always had a big, toothy smile. He liked to read. He was never as into horses as I was. Or into sports. He liked video games and computers (once we had one). He was brilliant. I remember teaching him algebra and reading him books when he was way too young for such things.

There were dark days in our childhood. Days, weeks and even months shadowed by an angry stepfather who liked to yell and hit and when he was drunk. Afternoons we spent hiding out in the woods, pretending we didn't know he was looking for us. We developed a silly bird call so we could locate other. Tried to stay out of his way. We learned how to keep our heads down and get our chores done and that kept us out of trouble most of the time. Eventually, the stepfather was gone and things were good.

Ethan got older. He went through an awkward phase. One where he was chubbier than he was happy with. He had to get braces that made him feel even more awkward and caused him pain. He moved to high school where he felt that being smart wasn't "cool." And his grades didn't win him friends with the crowd he wanted to hang out with.

One day we woke up and Ethan was over 6 feet tall. He was lean and tough. He didn't have the good grades he was so proud of when we were little. He got into a lot of trouble and he did a lot of yelling. Suddenly the little boy who was so happy being momma's, needed to prove he wasn't a momma's boy. Needed to prove he was a man. Needed to prove...something. He got arrested. He shoplifted. He damaged school property. He huffed gasoline.

Ethan stopped resembling the little boy I knew and became a man that I didn't recognize. Someone I couldn't let around my kids. Someone I was afraid to talk to. Because you never knew what kind of state he would be in. Or what he might talk about. Someone so angry and so miserable and so full of hurt.

And now, both the boy and the man are gone. Tomorrow is his memorial service.

I will always remember the blonde curls and the blue eyes. The little boy who followed me relentlessly, even when I wanted him to go away. Always a jokester. Funny to a fault. Sensitive and big-hearted. That will always be my little brother.

Most days, I didn't know how to wrap my head around the man he became. Now that he is gone, I don't think I ever will. I know he has peace now. I know he finally has found an inner calm and a clarity and solace that he couldn't find here. I look at pictures of him and I have a hard time believing that he's gone. After all, there isn't a daily void in my life with his passing. We didn't speak often. But he is. And while I do find myself wishing I could just tell him one more time that I loved him. That I could give him one more hug and feel how tall and grown and solid he was. I find comfort in knowing that his life is better now. He is better now. It's not goodbye. It's see you later.

Rest easy, sweet boy.

Ethan Douglas Funk

April 14, 1990 - December 15, 2013