J.J.'s Masterpiece

Last evening our 4th grandchild, Carmen June (age 5), visited with us while her mother tutored me in the craft of blogging. This little drawing is fresh from the crayon box, and she said it's me.  I'm so glad she sees me smiling, and with thin legs.  And that the sun is shining with green grass.  She's captured my kind of day.

Today, though,  is a sentimental one for me, being that it marks the 4th anniversary of my brother, Russell's passing after a very difficult illness.  He was two years younger than me, and we were very close.  After he had to quit work, Russ spent a lot of time at my house when the little grandgirls were there for their weekly  playdays, so they remember Uncle Russ.

He and I shared a love of coffee.  When he had to quit working, you could find us at the Decaffinated  Coffee Shop on Front Street  several mornings a week around 10 am.

After my eye doctor appointment this morning, I drove to Tim Horton's for my 10 am recharge, and, on impulse, bought a second cup for Russ.  I know he's not in the cemetery, of course, but I drove there and placed his coffee on his tombstone to recall all those other mornings, those hours of joking, sharing, being our usual brother and sister selves even while we both knew it wasn't meant to be for much longer.

Standing there, I could see his face, hear his laughter, and I could particularly see that ornery twinkle  he used to give me when he knew he had struck a nerve with his joking around.

I'm glad I'm finally old enough to not be embarrassed to share this.  It's not a morbid thing, it's joyful, really.  I know beyond a doubt that Russ was a Christian, because we talked about it many times, all the time toward the end.

His last day with us was difficult, indescribably difficult, but when he breathed his last, we could see first hand, the peace that passes all understanding on that beautiful face.  I am lucky to have had Russ for my brother.   I can even say now that we were lucky to have had that awful cancer experience, because we became even closer through it all.  As my mother often says, "we got throught it." 

I'll tell the little girls all the stories I can about Russ and me, (the good, bad, and maybe some ugly ones someday) and I hope they have the same kind of loving relationship with their siblings that can survive even the most awful trials.          This is Uncle Russ on Lacey's graduation day.