Siblings are the people we practice on, the people who teach us about fairness and cooperation and kindness and caring - quite often the hard way. ~Pamela Dugdale

April 18, 2012 Last month I read a book by Fay Aldridge titled, Messages from Heaven. In the book there is a story about a mother who lost her son in an accident and wanted a sign that he was alright. One day when she was visiting her son’s grave she noticed a butterfly. The butterfly flew unusually close to her. Then, when she moved, the butterfly followed. She took this as a sign that he was letting her know that he was alright and safe in heaven. Today, I was working in the backyard when a butterfly landed next to the back fence. I was clearing the weeds next to the fence with a gas powered trimmer. The trimmer was very loud. I thought to myself that the butterfly should have flown away, scared of the noise. Instead, it followed me as I trimmed around the perimeter of the fence. At first, I thought nothing of the butterfly. I was in the back yard working, the sun was beating down, and I wanted to get the trimming over with. When I was finished, I sat on the back patio for a rest. After a while, I noticed the same butterfly near the flowers next to the patio. Only then, did the story about the woman visiting her son’s grave, came back to me. I realized that butterfly was my sign that my brother was visiting me to say hello. I leaned forward to get a better look, then waved to say hello. The butterfly took off flying as if dancing in midair. I knew my wave told my brother I knew he was there, and that made him happy. I delighted in watching the butterfly dance as I spoke saying I missed him. Today marks the 19 anniversary of his death. He was 47 years old when he died. He had a disease called Amyloidosis. Amyloidosis is a progressive, incurable, metabolic disease characterized by abnormal deposits of protein in one or more organs or body systems. Most cases of amyloidosis are diagnosed after the disease has reached an advanced stage. The course of each patient's illness is unique but death, usually a result of heart disease or kidney failure, generally occurs within a few years. Amyloidosis associated by multiple myeloma usually has a poor prognosis. Most patients with both diseases die within one to two years. My brother, like our mother, never wanted anyone to know he was sick. I only knew about his illness when his wife called me to tell me he had died. My mother died two weeks after I found out she had pancreatic cancer. The last time I spoke to him prior to his death was in 1987 when our mother died. He died in 1993. We were not a close family even growing up. Our lives were lived in the survival mode twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Our father’s drinking and untreated mental illness kept us on edge all of the time. Like anyone trying to survive, you turn against each other if it means keeping yourself safe. That happened many times between my brothers and I. They feared being beaten, threatened, or interrogated for something my father suspected them of doing. In turn, I was blamed for many things. As young as I was, I knew I was being blamed for something but didn’t have a clue for what. I felt so afraid to say anything. So, I never defended myself. Our father turned his wrath against me while my brothers smiled at me behind his back. I was scared and would cry but that didn’t stop them from blaming me. I was often slapped across the face (even as young as 5 years old) by my father, then, beaten with a belt or hair brush. No matter what time of the day it was, I was sent to bed, crying, feelings hurt, scared, and confused. My brothers tried to make up for it the next day by giving me candy and it worked. I began to think I was bad and that I did all of the things I was blamed for even though I didn’t. As I grew up, I figured out what they were doing but never confronted them. They lied before. I knew they would not acknowledge what they did. Their typical response would have been to blame me for making things up or having a wild imagination. I don’t blame them. Our father was a sick, drunk, crazy, dangerous person. He has no sense of empathy or sympathy. He saw us a financial burdens, taking money to support us from him when he could have been putting it in a savings account for himself. When my brother, Tom, turned 17 years old, our father threw him out of the house. Put him out in the street. Tom ended up sleeping in the basement of a friend’s house until he could find a place to live on his own. Our father sent Tom a bill for all of the years Tom lived with us. The bill was for room, board, clothes, etc. The amount was $7,000. I have no idea how our father came up with that amount but I know he was never paid. Tom went on to be a successful professional man. He was a devoted husband and a very loving father. Ironically, he was the only one who kept in touch with our father after our mother died. Tom was a good man like that. He forgave him and never held it against him. So, my visit today from the little butterfly brought back many childhood memories. It seems so long ago that we were children, growing up in Baltimore. Yet, life happened so fast. Now many years later, I look back with thanks for having Tom as a brother. He inspired me to move away from Baltimore to Texas when he moved his family to Oklahoma in 1974. He wanted a better life for his sons in a small town like Tom lived in until we all moved to Baltimore. Today, he has grandchildren and great grandchildren. He would be so proud of his three sons. I know he is with the Lord, happy, at peace, and looking down on us. Rest in peace my brother, until the day we will all be together again.