A Brother's Love
Dear Rick,
Since I still cannot accept that you are not there, I am writing you now in the middle of the night to try to chase away these demons and bring back all those wonderful memories of times long ago when the sun still shone, you could smell the burning leaves, the summers were full of adventure... and we were graced with the joy of your presence in our lives.
Do you remember how we had the whole third floor of that big old house in Winnetka to ourselves and used to crawl through the secret passages from room to room? And how we played baseball for hours at the Village Green until it was so dark you couldn't see the ball and Mom whistled us in to dinner?
Those glorious summers here in Aspen in the 1950's, when we would just put on our packs and head up to Grizzly or back over Taylor Pass and camp and fish and hunt until we ran out of food. And wearing loaded pistols around town so we could ding the magpies off the roof of the Red Onion. How free and wild and open the town was in those days, and how great it was to have only one sheriff for the whole city and county! Boy, we got away with a lot, didn't we?
How about the time you and Zim kidnapped Andy from the hospital the day after he had his appendix out to take him to a party and had to rush him back in the middle of the night when his stitches all broke from laughing so hard? And after "The Accident" your senior year at New Trier, when Dan was paralyzed, lying in the hospital bed, and we got him those prism glasses so he could see the Corvette posters we had plastered all over his room?
And then the night you got arrested for riding your motorcycle down Sheridan road with nothing on but a top hat, and Dad had to come bail you out of jail?
And the Feffari story will live on forever in the annals of the Pitkin County Sheriff s Office!
I remember that last conversation with you in 1965, before they shipped you off to the jungle in Southeast Asia, on the other side of the world, and then boxes full of booty from the enemy you sent home for us to wonder at. Did you ever know that I showed Dad your slides from Nam in the hospital just days before he died? We were all so proud of you, Rick, and respected you so very much for your record in the war, your bravery and heroism and the way you fought back to sanity and wholeness afterwards and helped so many others to do the same. Thanks to you, the healing still goes on for so many of us.
On that last night, when we talked so long and I was so happy to be having such a wonderful conversation with my brother, you talked about your regrets and accomplishments in life. I remember all the highlights, including that summer you, the captain, got the whole New Trier football team together to work all summer and it paid off in the last game of the season. I came back from college to watch you beat Evanston 20 - 7 on that great November day in 1962. How many times did you guys get together, lying on the living room floor in our house to watch the game films and relive every play?
We are all vets now, Rick. The war we have been fighting since your death goes on, and we can only imagine with the greatest pain the loneliness and despair that must have overcome you in those last moments. We pray for you, for your soul and your eternal happiness. May you rest forever in the arms of our Savior, where you are loved and accepted unconditionally. We accept and love you that way, too, Rick, and always will.
Semper Fi, my beloved Brother.
Love,
Tom
Tom Buesch, Aspen