monday manuscript

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“Anthem”

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don’t dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government —
signs for all to see. I can’t run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up
a thundercloud
and they’re going to hear from me.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in. You can add up the parts
but you won’t have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee. Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in. Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.
Leonard Cohen

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My brother died.  I am so sad I feel as if I am cracked open.  I fix snacks for my toddlers, and tickle them and play, and then the next moment I am bending over, hands on knees, bent with grief, because I forgot he is gone.   Grief is like that, everyone tells me.  I’m not very good at it, but as most have said, “The only way out is through.”  So I’m posting this today because, as my sister says, I’m a writer.  This is how I go through.

Here are some things I loved about my brother:

He had a great voice.  His voice was strong and confident.  It rang out.  It said, ‘I am here and I got this.”

He could reduce me, my sisters, our entire kitchen table to tears with laughter.

He imitated Sylvester the Cat with perfect adorable accuracy.

He could torment pretty much anyone with his humor and we could never get mad because he was spot ON.

He was so handsome.  Richard Gere handsome.

He knew the Hustle and could jive to any song from Saturday Night Fever with SOLID skills.

He would lock me in a head hold any time I got near him.  He was very strong!

I think I was his favorite.  (My sisters all thought this.  We are still not sure who it was… so I’ll claim it since I have the blog.)

He loved planes and was fascinated by them – air shows.  I keep finding pictures of air shows.  He was a kid about it.

He would play football with me when we got together for Thanksgiving.  He never said no.

He loved Jesus.

He loved us.

He wanted his life to be a shout, not a whisper.

He was not perfect, not even close.  He was cracked.  And so very tired, I think, when he died.  Now the light shines in.

He was my big brother.  Everyone should be so lucky.

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6 thoughts on “monday manuscript

  1. Oh, Dana. That describes him perfectly. I am reacting much the same way. I am fine, then the next thing I know, I’m wiping away tears. Like now, after reading this. Thank you for helping me to release the sadness. I think I am finally having my first real, heaving cry, since I learned of his passing… Yes, he was strong, confident and handsome. That’s the way I choose to remember him. :) I love you, and can’t wait to be able to hug you in real life. Soon. Very soon. I’ve missed you all so much.

  2. A lovely tribute to your brother and to your grief, Dana. I’m so sorry for the loss of one you held so dear as a child and for the one you will continue to cherish until you see him again. As sure as your sorrow is real, so his dancing above. God bless you as you move forward surrounded by memories of a sweet brother who adored your every whim.

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