A memory from his little sister, Jenny. I loved him. 2016
My
brother. He was a hoot. I think everyone would agree that his
easy-going way and fun loving demeanor made his presence a delight. I didn’t always know my brother. He was 17 when I was born and was out into
the world while I was still taking naps.
But I did adore him. As a child I
was enamored by his beautiful doll like children and played with them
tirelessly. Marty seemed so big, so
adventurous, moving every few years to manage a new lumber store. We always went wherever he was to visit. I still point out his old house on Upland
Drive when I find myself driving through that part of town.
As
things go, I grew up. I still thought my
brother was hot stuff, but I had my own teenage drama to attend to so I saw him
less. I went off to college and ended up
in China. I, too, got married and lived
far away. My brother, like so many
people that were dear to me, seemed distant.
But I loved him so. And I was
amazed at the things we had in common.
We both loved zip lines and adventure.
We both joked, although he had a quick wit that I’ve never found.
When
our Dad passed in 2009 we grieved. You
know I always thought I was Dad’s favorite, but upon reading letters he left
for us I had to admit that Marty was indeed the favored one.
Last year when we found out Marty was sick I felt robbed. I was so angry. It was not fair that he would be taken from me. There was much I wanted to do with my brother. I had plans to zip line some ravine with him or sing a crazy duo on a lazy cruise ship in the Caribbean. My brother that I had always adored would be taken before I could call him my friend.
I
went home. Eyelids heavy with jetlag I
made the long drive every day to see him and we laughed. He got to know my boys and they laughed. Heavy hearted I returned to China and
faithfully prayed for my brother every day.
And every week, at least once and sometimes twice or three times I heard
his voice via Skype and saw his face… actually saw his face when he shaved his
beard! And I heard him say, “I like
talking to you.” And I felt closer with
every passing week and then we got good news and I felt hope that we would do
some of those off the wall things together.
Then he got sick again. None of
us knew it would come so abruptly, but the Lord knew. The master of time saw to it that I made my
way back to America for what seemed to be a trivial matter of paperwork. And there we were. My hands on him praying. Then there he was, in the hospital again;
slipping.
We
once talked about our Dad. He sang. Mostly hymns.
Our Dad taught us to sing to our Lord, to have a heart song and
worship. The Lord does indeed inhabit
the praises of his people. It seems only
fitting that the last thing I did with Marty was sing. How Great Thou Art – and I’m sure that tune
drowned out AC/DC’s TNT as my brother and my friend met Jesus on the other side
of eternity. I’ll miss you Marty but
I’ll see you again!
