Frankie

I always get the blues around this time of year, and it wasn't until recently that I figured out why. Fall is my favorite time of year with the milder weather, fewer mosquitoes, turning leaves, comfort food, back-to-school, football and hoodies! So why did I end up, once again, feeling that familiar blue funk descend? Last year I decided instead of continuing to ignore this annual depression, I would embrace it - and try to figure it out.

Essentially what happens to me is I will frequently feel on the verge of tears at any given moment, and it usually happens when I am alone. I have freaked a few people out when I started crying while picking out cards at Walmart.

For those of you who are beginning to worry futher about my sanity as you read this post, please don't fret. I am not any more unstable than I was the last time you talked to me.

Well, it hit me again on Wednesday. I was at work, and was watching a show with my client that was a tear-jerker, and the tears began to flow. My client reached his hand over to me, and even their family dog came over and sat at my feet. I was crying about something random on tv and thought, "Here we go, again." I was rather annoyed at myself. Now I had even upset the dog!

Then I realized why the tears came so quickly. I miss my Frankie. My dearly beloved brother who died from pancreatic cancer - he was diagnosed with the devastating news ten years ago this week. The stress from that news sent me into early labor with our fourth baby (Jessica Evelyn) who was born two days after we got the diagnosis. In retrospect I realize God was sending our family new life during such a trying time of death and disease and pain. Wow, did we ever need that new little baby to pull us away from the difficulty of saying goodbye to Frankie and make us look to the future. The stress of it all even affected Jessica though - she screamed with colic from the day she was born until she was nine months old. But THAT is another post!

Frankie left us quickly, just five weeks after he received his diagnosis.

He was the middle child out of five siblings. The third born brother, then my sister and I came along. I think he was the family favorite. Everyone loved him - he was often called a big ol' teddy bear. His gruff, tough exterier revealed a heart of gold. I can't even tell you the good and sweet things he did for me and my family. I always knew I could call him if I needed anything. But THAT is another post too!

Sometimes I have questioned why God took him and not me, or one of my other siblings. He did not want to die. He fought it. Frankie was the "family bridge" for all of us. But then, after Mom died a couple of years later, something wonderful happened. The four of us that remained in our family (Dad died before Frankie) have begun to pull together in a really wonderful way. As we grow and mature and learn, we understand each other better, we accept each other more - we make a better effort to stay in contact and to get together on occasion. Sure, we still annoy each other, we don't always agree - but there is a love and a bond there. I know at any given time I can call either of my big brothers, or my MUCH older sister, and they will be there for me. That is a really good feeling.

The year before Frankie died he lived 15 minutes away from me. I saw him on at least a weekly basis, I would do his laundry for him and I cleaned his apartment. We talked on the phone almost every day. He would call me up and say, "Whatcha doin'?" and I would answer with whatever I was doing, then he would say, "Oh, okay."

And then he would hang up.

Poopface.