38 years old. That's how old my brother Jackson would have been today. 38?! It's hard to imagine the 26-year-old I knew as a 38-year-old now.
What would he look like? Would his hair be graying at the temples? Would he even have any hair left? How many wrinkles would he have? How many kids? (The two are directly proportional.) What job would he have now? Where would he live? What sort of music would he like?
I've got an idea. I'm going to do a little creative writing and invent the details of what my brother's life would have been like for the last 12 years. Indulge me, okay y'all? I imagine he would have beaten his cancer, and maybe stayed in the Army a few more years. I know he wanted to go back and teach at West Point, so let's pretend he did that for about four years. Then he and Bonnie would have been ready to have kids, and she would have wanted to move back to Kentucky where her family lives. So I'm gonna say he got out the military altogether and became a civilian. They had two kids, both adopted because of the cancer treatments: a boy named either Josh or Gabe and a girl named Elizabeth. (I hope y'all are still indulging me!) The kids would be six and three now. Jackson would have very little hair on his head, but what he has left would still be pretty dark. (The grays won't show up until he's in his mid-forties.) We'd talk on the phone about once every ten days or so. He'd be the owner of a small civil engineering firm, and he'd still like country music like Kenny Chesney, mixed in with some classic rock. I bet he'd like Kidd Rock, and I'd be able to harrass him about that. (I don't like Kidd Rock!) Jackson and Bonnie would live in a house out in the country, kind of like where she lives now. There would be enough room for my family and my sister's family to stay with them every other Christmas, which we would alternately dread and anticipate every time - dread because of the chaos of all the kids, and anticipate because of the time we'd get to spend together now that Mom and Dad are gone and us three siblings would be the only ones left. We'd spend holidays eating Dad's wild rice and Mom's sweet potato casserole and Bonnie's family dishes, and tell stories about how I killed Jackson's mice (accidentally) and how Jackson pushed me out of the treehouse and how Mary made the worst spaghetti when Mom and Dad were out of town. We'd commiserate about raising kids and toddler tantrums.
Ah... that was fun to dream and pretend. Sad, but fun. I hope he's having a good birthday, enjoying himself and his perpetually-young 26-year-old body. I miss him.
1 comment:
I am sure his daughter would be named Elizabeth also, and she would have your curly hair and smile. When she visited, you would have to make up nick names to keep the confusion down, probably Big E and Little E, unless Jackson was calling you Lizzie to annoy you. (I am just guessing here.) When you were together, all the boys in the house would cause so much noise-- it would be fabulous.
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