Messages From My Brothers
Saturday, August 16, 2025
Messages from my brothers
I am getting ready to have visitors. I hardly ever have visitors, even though I bought this house hoping it would entice people to come and visit. I finally have a place of my own for my family and friends. I have always wanted what is so normal and easy for so many people, but not for me, the house and the love of those in my life, I hold dear. So much has happened since I moved here, so it didn’t turn out that way, at least not until now. My brother Stacey’s girlfriend is coming to visit with a friend. I met her friend two years ago when they came up for their mini country vacation. Two city girls delighting in the Catskill Mountains. It is so much fun to see how enthusiastic they are. It makes me look at where I live with renewed appreciation. We have stayed in touch all these years, and she is still my sister-in-law, part of my family, even though they were never married. At least not by legal standards. Heck, neither was I, married legally that is. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is love and commitment. If you have that, you have trust and a family. Imperfect, except for our love for one another. We reminisce, laugh, and sometimes cry, but it feels like home. It is home.
As I was getting ready, all three of my brothers spoke to me. This morning, an old friend of my brothers, Colin and Herby, contacted me via FB messenger, and we laughed about how she sees me online at all hours of the night and day, and so was she. She told me she thinks about the boys from time to time and how my father’s reading of Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that good night” at my brother Colin’s memorial still makes her cry when she thinks about it, even though he has been gone since 2018. Then she told me she was going to see Joan Osbourne at the Colony in Woodstock, and serendipitously so was I. That was my brother Colin letting me know that he was around. Colin comes to me more than the others.
Next, as I was cleaning around my old CD towers, I found a CD half out of its case on the floor under one of them. I looked at the cover with wonder and surprise. We were all on it, me, Colin, Chris, Stacey, and Peter, probably taken in the mid-seventies. The only one missing was Herby, who died in 1987. And it was not just any CD, it was the Waterous Family Music CD that my brother Stacey made of some of the music our family made over the years. I am not musical or talented like they are, but I love listening, and I can dance, so I consider myself an appreciator. Plus, I get to say, with so much pride, “Look at my talented family!” There were songs that my father sang alone. There are songs by Stacey, Dad, my uncle Alley, Colin, Chris, and my ex, Frank. So many memories and the sweetness of Stacey making this CD to honor his family made me sad, but at the same time, incredibly happy to have had this man as my brother. To have known such love, talent, and tragedy is sacred.
The last sign was from my brother Peter, who died in 2023 from an overdose of fentanyl that was laced in whatever narcotic he was unknowingly snorting. James Taylor came on the radio singing “Sweet Baby Jane.” Peter loved James Taylor, which just about did me in. I have not really dealt with all of the sadness and senselessness of it all. The death of my brothers. They are gone. Gone, but alive in my heart and memories, and Susie coming to see me right now, is Herby speaking to me. He never met Sue, but he would have loved her.
I don’t know how to deal with my feelings about Herby. He has been gone so long, and while he was alive, at the end, I was traumatized by him. Not so much his death, but his suffering on this earth. And by association, my own suffering as I watched helplessly. My brothers and I were young, beautiful, intelligent, and talented. We should have had the world at our fingertips, but instead, we were tortured by unimaginable demons. I shut down. My memories are locked away in childish caverns. That’s how I remember my closest-in-age brother, a little boy, blonde, adorable, curious, and my best friend. As children, we did everything together. We lived on the golf course where my father worked. We had many adventures on that course, and some remain vividly in my mind. But mostly I remember his sweet face, beautiful blue eyes that took in everything, and held so much curiosity. He was adventurous, but I still had to be the big sister. I mothered him and smothered him, but I think he liked it, at least when no one was looking. I hope I can unlock more of those memories someday.
This visit is an important step for me, for my healing, and my ability to move forward in this tragic but beautiful life. I did not go gentle into that good night, no, I raged and suffered. As I write this, I am sobbing, but it feels so damned good. I am sobbing but not suffering. I will always cry when I think of my brothers. It is not fair that life gave up on them so young, but I know I will see them again someday, and I have to be ready. I have to be the big sister, and I have to be ok. No judgment or sadness, just acceptance and love, and the comfort of being in their heavenly presence. I don’t have to try to save them anymore; they are with God. Now I know that Herby agrees, “Blue Sky” by the Allman Brothers just came on the radio. I think he has forgiven me.