In some alternate universe, this past Tuesday I was visiting my brother to celebrate his 62nd birthday. I am likely teasing him for being so old.

This is just my imagination wandering.

David never made it to his 36th circuit around the sun, and mentally, I was told his brain might have made two laps.

There is never quite the right store card for this.

So I retry once a year, to find one more scanned old photo, or memory shred to revive, if but for a moment. Just in this writing, I jump out of my own center of the me universe flow, one where even with an electronic calendar reminder of David’s passing earth entry date… I forgot.

David's Birth Notes
cc licensed ( BY-SA ) flickr photo shared by cogdogblog

What does one make of the fragments, the half filled baby book my parents likely did not have the heart to continue filling in (or which lacked the appropriate questions to ask for a mentally retarded child)? His rocking chair, sits as a marker in my home (now far away).

A photo of my Dad, being a Dad to his son inside a horrible institution called “Rosewood”?

Dad and David, maybe 1970?
Dad and David, maybe 1970?

His name, most likely from our grandmother’s father, who passed away before we were both born?

Great Grandfather's Chess Medal
cc licensed ( BY-SA ) flickr photo shared by cogdogblog

Yes, that’s about what I can do. Invoke his name.

My brother, David.

Top / featured photo is mine. Self attribution? Why not.. cc licensed (BY-SA) flickr photo by cogdogblog:

The post "Birthdays Without Brothers" was originally scraped from the bottom of the pickel barrel at CogDogBlog ( on January 24, 2015.


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