It’s been just one full day since I got a series of cryptic calls finally ending in knowing that he’s gone. I’m the little one in that photo there and much of my life was governed by my siblings (who are twins) up until my mid-teens.
None of us are particularly easy to get to know and love, but we spent many of our young years as a little triumvirate conspiring against adults, building forts in the woods, devouring books, sharing stories, and always questioning authority. We were way too smart back then for the severely strict but often unsupervised life we lived.
Don’t get me wrong, we knew how to behave in public—always polite and helpful, steering away from delicate subjects, smiling sincerely—like any classically reared suburban southern kids. But we fought like feral animals when no one was looking. You really couldn’t produce three more different people so conflict was inevitable, yet we are fiercely loyal to each other. Sibling love is weird like that.
I could write a bit about him as an individual, but the pain of the the loss is about who we were as a team. And that is all over. I am still in shock.
Of course, I likely won’t be at QuiltCon this week, but I hope you understand.