December 4, 2020 the world changed
forever. Some never noticed, others might have felt a blip in the energy around
them and for many others the world will never be the same again. On that day I
lost my brother. The demons that plagued him for much too long attacked when he
was most vulnerable. They don’t fight fair and work in the darkest places of
the human soul. They won the Earthly battle and the world will be less bright. Friday
the 4th was one moment in time and I believe one moment should not define my
brother. Frank was human, had flaws, made mistakes, and fought daily with the
person he saw in the mirror. But he was a good man, a good person, a good
husband, a good father, a good brother, and a good son.
My brother was the second oldest in
our family of four siblings and the oldest son. He was three years my senior
and oftentimes was my hero. I was the runt of the family, small, awkward, dorky,
a bookworm, and an easy target. Growing up I was picked on often for being all the
things I mentioned and more. Frank was the big brother every little
sister could want. He was big, strong, teased me like crazy, but always
protected me with a fierceness only understood by big brothers. In grade school
he squared off on more than one occasion to protect me from bullies. He always
protected me, made sure bullies apologized and spent time in detention for his
efforts. I adored him.
For a time when we were both in
elementary school, we lived on a small ranchette outside of town. It was the
type of place that sparked creativity, imagination and hours and hours of time
outside. When we moved out there my sister started junior high and my other
brother was little and not yet school aged. My Dad taught school in town and my Mom was working in town, meaning every school day they loaded up my sister and
baby brother and headed in. Frank and I would get ready and head to our
country school, about three miles from the ranch house. During the winter, when
the roads were blocked and the bus couldn’t make it to the house, we would
bundle up and snowmobile to school. A few times we even rode our pony. Being well before all-day kid TV, cell phones, electronic games, and even regular
phones; we shared a party-line with several other ranches in the area, we
learned to entertain ourselves. Getting home from school, we would rush through
chores, so we had time to play. We made up games that were ridiculous, with rules that constantly changed, ran wild and laughed a ton. Many of our indoor
games, during cold weather, were serenated by my crush from my parent’s era of music.
Fabian was very handsome to my little six, and seven year old, self. It drove
my brother crazy when I played the same 45 record over and over, and over again; Turn
me Loose, Hold That Tiger and Mug Mates. He was easy going though, and rolled with it.
More than a couple of times our
activities could have landed us in very, hot water. Our old ranch house had, what
seemed at the time, to be a huge, very long rec room. The front
door was on one end of the rec room and a large couch was at the other end. I
don’t quite remember how the game started, but we discovered how much fun it
was, with Fabian crooning in the background, to start by the front door, run as
fast as we could, jump on the arm of the couch and flip onto the cushions. It
was a perfect way to pass the time when we couldn’t be outside. That old couch weathered hundreds of jumps, falls and bounces, until it didn’t. One cold day, mid-way through an afternoon of couch jumping, I bounded
off after a very successful flip. Frank was hot on my heels. He jumped,
flew, bounced and CRACK! Our eyes grew to the size of saucers
and we both went, “Uh Oh.” Like all kids we didn’t want to get in trouble, so began to think of potential fixes before the rest
of the family showed up. The first, most
obvious thought was, maybe they won’t notice. We stepped back, looked and
went, “Yea, they’ll notice.” Deciding to look underneath to see if maybe we
could put something under it was a brilliant next step. Thankfully it looked like a clean break right
in the middle. Maybe, if we found something that was just about the same height
as the legs we might get away with it. We scoured the house, trying several
different options, watching the clock and panicking as the seconds ticked by.
Finally, we thought about blocks. Running to my brothers’ room I grabbed a couple little blue square blocks. With our fingers crossed, Frank lifted the end of
the couch, I placed the blocks right at the break point and he gently set it
down. We stepped back and sighed, you couldn’t tell. The blocks were the perfect height at the skirt from the couch covered them up. We gingerly stepped away from the couch, like it was a rabid dog, and
said nothing. For those that are wondering, we did not get caught.
Another favorite game was to run
from our faithful basset hounds, Sam and Charles. We would start at the house,
get them excited, and then take off behind the house, down the fence line that
separated the courtyard from a small pasture, climb up some wood and boxes,
jump over the fence, land in a play yard and do it all over again. The fence was a 10 foot windbreak fence so we
had to be a little careful with how we landed. Frank was bigger and faster, but
I held my own staying as close to his heels as possible. Sam and Charles would
give chase, barking, tails wagging, tripping on their ears and loving every
minute of it. One brisk fall day we set off for a good round of chase. The sky was grey, the light was dim and it was chilly so we had on our coats. We made a couple laps without incident and then . . . Frank made it along the back of the fence,
climbed up and jumped over. I ran, climbed up, jumped over and my coat slid over a
fence plank. I was caught. Too short to reach anything to boost myself I couldn’t
move and swung back and forth like a pendulum. I called Frank, who was already
headed toward the house. He turned around and in appropriate big brother
fashion, burst out laughing. He walked back and I thought he was going to help
me down. Nope. He grinned, gave me a slight nudge, and started laughing again
as I swung back and forth. The dogs had made their way back around and
were underfoot, tails wagging enjoying the whole thing. I hung, periodically
getting a nudge from my brother and an interested look from the dogs, until they
started to bark. Realizing my folks were on the road toward the house, Frank
quickly climbed up and boosted me off the fence, all while whispering a familiar
phrase for anyone with siblings, “Don’t tell Mom and Dad.”
Frank always had my back, even in the
littlest of things. My active imagination, something that has helped me become
a writer now, provided times where I conjured fantastical creatures in my mind.
One time, after reading The Elves and the Shoemaker, too many times, I swore I saw
an elf running around the corner in our rec room. I confided in Frank and he teased me a little bit, but never made me feel bad. He said, “If you
thought you saw an elf, it was probably an elf.” In my little seven-year-old
mind I didn’t want my elf to be hungry, so that night decided to leave part of
my supper in a drawer for him. My brother, with a very large appetite, thought it was a great idea. At supper, I snuck part of my pork chop off my plate and left it in the drawer. In all
innocence I asked my brother if he thought the elf would know where to find the food. Frank
assured me he would know. Waking up early the next morning I ran to check the drawer. To my delight and surprise, the pork chop was
gone. I shared the wonderful news with my brother, who was not surprised. His comment was, “See, you did see
an elf.”
Our bond continued as we grew, and our lives changed. He
went off to the Army and wrote me every single week. I grew up a little more
and was ecstatic when he came back. When I was in college, I would bother him
at work between classes. As a manager first at Ideal and then Northridge I
would pop in, lounging in a chair or on his desk and talk until I had to leave
for my next class. We shared stories, challenged each other’s thoughts, and thought
about the future. It was during one of those conversations that he brought up
the beautiful, brunette checker at Ideal. He wandered over to the store often to grab one
little thing or another and strategically tried to get in her check-out line.
Finally, after hemming and hawing for weeks he got the gumption to ask her out. Not to sound clique, but the rest was history. My brother was smitten. They
began dating, I believe, in September, he proposed on Thanksgiving and they were
married in February. Their romance was a whirlwind and I watched my big brother
fall head over heels in love!! Terry was his heart and soul, grounding him and
helping him to see his own goodness. I remember watching him when we went to
see her sing as the Little Mermaid in the Centennial Singers program. He was all eyes and pride watching her sing. He had
complete adoration and love for his Terry Jo.
Frank and I were blessed, when he
returned from the Army, to follow a similar timeline with milestones in our
lives. He and Terry were married a year before Jim and I and we made incredible
memories as young married couples together. Trips to Breckinridge, sharing a
condo, playing games and skiing. Dinners at each other’s houses, a few drinks
and dancing like goofs to old songs. Fishing trips, to catfish at night while
the rain pounded on our tents. Playing cards by lantern light waiting for the
rain to let up just enough to fish. All of this was flavored with his ever-present
grin, his wild humor and laughter.
When Frank and Terry started a
family, I watched my brother fall in love all over again. There was such pride
and the look of being completely humbled when he held Ben for the
first time. Those feelings grew exponentially with each kiddo. He loved Ben, Josh, Sarah,
and Rachel with everything he was. Every conversation he talked about
how proud he was of them. When the boys were little, he would bring them by
trick-or-treating, all of them dressed up. We got to babysit and share in his love
for his children.
Frank and my husband were
incredible friends and would spend hours and days fishing together. Frank would
come into the house, “What’s up, Jim Bob Kelly Sue?”, his favorite thing to
call Jim. Frank introduced Jim to ice fishing for the first time and Jim knew
it was the one time he could fish and not come home on time without getting in
trouble. They hunted together and Jim marveled at Frank's ability to scale a mountain straight up, walk around the backside, hunt, and haul out an
animal all in a short period of time. He was strong and in perpetual motion.
My brother had an incredible
appetite. Our cook at our country school adored Frank and would make
extra food, just for him. I remember one-time,
he sat down at lunch and ate 26 pieces of chicken. As long as he continued to eat, Mrs. Beidleman brought it out. He was comfortable in my home and would walk
in, give me a hug and go straight to the refrigerator. Finding leftovers,
he would fix himself a plate, heat them up and then start to visit as he ate. I loved
the comfort level that prompted that and the fact that he would clear my fridge
of leftovers.
Even as our lives changed, we saw
each other often and talked on the phone regularly. We covered theology, politics, life, kids, laughed at stories and grew learning something new from each other. When we talked he always paused and genuinely wanted to know how I was, how Jim was and how the kids were. We attended events
for our kids and always seemed to end up poking each other, whispering goofy
things as we cheered and celebrated our kiddos. He loved my boys as fiercely as
he loved his own. He was proud of their accomplishments and made sure they knew it.
Frank was a passionate fisherman and would
fish until they stopped biting. Sometimes it would mean hours or sometimes a
day or two before they stopped biting. Terry was a saint, recognizing and supporting his
passion. She understood that a set time for him to be home when he fished was nearly impossible. He shared his love
of fishing with his kids and shared moments on the lake with each of them.
Frank was strong and could hike a mountain
without a break. He was top in his class in the Army earning medals and awards
for his dedication and focus. He would be dropped in the middle of a field, in the middle of the night and he would always be the first back to base. He lived life with a full, open throttle. His heart was bigger than the state of Texas, always being the first person to offer
help. He would give you the shirt off his back, his shoes or anything he thought you might need. His smile warmed rooms up and his
laughter was contagious. In business he always went above and beyond working tirelessly for everyone who was lucky to do
business with him. He didn’t judge and always wanted everyone to feel
comfortable. He usually loved people where they were, without expecting them to
be something they weren’t. He loved his family with everything he was. His
faith was strong and was evident in every aspect of life. Frank was larger than
life.
I have already cried more tears
than I knew I had, missing him dearly in the few days he has been gone. I think
ahead and know I will miss his presence when I am navigating hospital stints with
my parents, realizing I won’t have him to lean on, take walks with or help with
Mom and Dad. I will miss his calls and how he asked about what was going on in
my life and really wanted to know. I will miss him calling me Shanny and
Scrappy Do, teasing me for being little. I will miss his ability to love with
no judgement and no expectations, just pure love and acceptance. I will miss him
every single day. Tears will sneak up and choke me and my heart will ache for a
long, long time. I will reach for my phone 1,000 times to call him about something
silly and I will see him in places he used to be. I will miss his voice, his hugs,
his pokes and him squaring off to pick on me. I will miss how he teased my
boys and hugged on my husband. My heart hurts that he will never get the signed
copy of my book that he was anxiously waiting for or that he will miss so many
milestones. My heart cries for Terry, Ben, Josh, Sarah and Rachel and for our
entire family. My mind stutters when I think memories of Frank stopped on
December 4, 2020.
I believe life is never measured by
the house or neighborhood you live in, the car you drive or the things you
have. I believe success is not measured by the zeros on a paycheck or how
expensive your clothes are. Success and life are better measured by the people
you loved and the lives you impacted. Frank loved fiercely and impacted thousands of lives. He was many amazing things, so much more than his humanity and the final time the
demons succeeded.
Now, as the initial shock settles
and my brother carries his smile and charm to the gates of heaven, I think of Frank.
I cried for the anguish and darkness he was fighting in the final moments and agonized that he was alone. I realized in my heart, though, he was not alone in his last moments. I imagine, The
Lord cradled my brother, even if Frank didn’t realize it. Tears streamed down The
Lord’s face as he knew and felt the battle Frank fought. He rocked my brother,
hoping not to lose his child in the Earthly realm. My brother is now in heaven.
In the peace after the storm, I see
the Lord pulling Frank aside and inviting him to fish in His favorite spot. Knowing
my brother better than anyone, they sit side by side in a boat with their lines
in the water. The water is still as glass with only an occasional ripple and
the sky is brilliant. Fish swim around the boat, peering out occasionally. Understanding
my brother, the Lord ensures the fish aren’t biting until after they can have a
conversation. They talk, they fish, they cry and for the first time my brother
sees himself through the eyes of the Lord. My brother is finally at peace. I
love you Frank.
