The Shoes
I was up early and heading east on US Highway 50 what they call the loneliest highway in Nevada. I just made it past Silver Springs to Lake Lahontan rest stop. Made the stop and saw the beautiful sunrise. Grabbed my camera and went to the boat ramp area. I could see the fish jumping. My brother was on my mind because my sister was going out this day on the St. Croix River back in our hometown to spread some of his ashes and I was not able to go. When I saw the fish jumping, I knew he was near.
Then, there they were. The shoes.
I had got the call he was in the emergency room. I got on a plane and flew down to Alabama. It was to be the last times I would spend with my brother, Terry, he was very sick. He was dying. He had cancer throughout his body. He had cardiac issues and he had caught COVID 19, which developed into double pneumonia. He was on direct oxygen with a mask in a hospital room. I walked in the room, and he was breaking the rules talking to one of his longtime friends Bill Rath. Bill was dedicating a book of his photography of Hawaii to Terry. They had set out on a hitch-hiking trip right out of high school and one place that Bill fell in love with was Hawaii. Still lives there today. But the story of how they got to Hawaii I still have not heard. It may be a mystery unless I get to Hawaii to see Bill.
It was several days of me and my brother doing what we did as kids, watching TV. Not much talking but being together. He was afraid. He was in denial. He thought he had more time. He didn’t.
He was smiling, he was making me laugh and he kept saying, “that’s someone I could have a bowl of peach ice cream with.” It became our thing to say with every person that came in the room when they left. It was how we knew someone had spirit. A spirit that you would want to sit with and share a bowl of peach ice cream. He kept asking me, “did you find my shoes?” He had been given a pair of checkered Vans. They were his favorite shoes. I looked at his place. I asked all the staff. The shoes were nowhere to be found. I never told him I could not find them. He wanted to come home. They didn’t think he would make it. The hospice nurse failed us miserably. They did not know my brother’s spirit was so strong. He made to his place. She was not there, she ordered the wrong equipment, the EMT were I think garbage haulers who got roped into delivering him. They did not know what to do. He was alert, he was alive. The medical people assumed he would die during the transport. They were wrong. He lived. He wanted to live.
He didn’t make it. She ordered the wrong mask for the oxygen and by the time she finally arrived it was too late. My brother sober for 35 years passed away at 4:20 on May 7, 2020, which the 4:20 thing was just like him to make a joke even in his last minutes on earth. He was at peace. It was COVID, no one knew how contagious this was. I had the N95 from my work so felt safe. It was our last time together. I yelled at the nurse told her she failed him. I held nothing back, what did I have to lose, I just lost my brother. He was at peace and then he was gone. A body, no spirit anymore.
Until the day I stopped at Lake Lahontan and there they were. The shoes. I sat down and cried. I found your shoes Ter. There was no one else at the rest/boat launch. Me, a beautiful sunrise and the shoes.
We may leave this world physically, but for certain in that moment, I knew my brother’s spirit was still here. He had found a way to communicate with me. He knew I would know. And, while I miss him terribly, I know he is there if I only take the moment to be in it and feel it.
Underhill Earthworks 