It's been just over a year since our Wyatt went Home, and the pain hasn't gone away yet. I thought these things were supposed to get better with time, but nobody ever said how much time....
My brother lived well. Not perfectly. He was far from perfect. I'm not trying to deify him, or revert to the old attitude of "never speak ill of the dead". He had many faults. Many annoying habits, and down right wrong ideas about things. But he knew how important it is to love people, and he did.
Last year; June 20th, 2018, I picked him up at the bus station.
That day I worked short shift (6-10 AM) as an aid, then PM shift as cook - we had our resident/family picnic, so I didn't get off until closer to 8 instead of the usual 7 o'clock. After work I had to pick up my car in a neighboring town, 20 minutes away, so a friend picked me up at the house after work and took me to the mechanic, then I drove to Sioux Falls to get Wyatt from the bus station. The bus got in at 7, and it was close to 10:30 when I finally got there - and it had been raining the whole time.
When I got to where Wyatt was waiting - down the road from the station, under an awning - he never mentioned the long, wet, wait, he was just happy to see me.
The next day I planned to drive to Alabama for a visit before going to my cousins wedding in Wisconsin. He wanted to go along. Sadly, by the time we knew if he could come, I'd already made plans/reservations, and they couldn't be changed on such short notice, so he didn't get to go on my two week road trip.
For the whole 3 months he stayed with us, (my grandma and I) we didn't get much time to go do fun stuff. He got to experience going to the theatre for the first time. We went to Sioux Falls frequently to visit my uncle in the hospital, and we would run errands together - which several times, meant getting lost in Menards for an hour *grins*. We went for dinner with friends a couple times. Otherwise, he spent his time helping Oma (grandma) around the house, and fixing things.
He didn't complain even once. He reroofed two sheds, refinished the deck, and fixed countless things around the house, by himself. There were so many little things he did without saying a word, that we never knew about until months after he was gone - we kept finding little things he'd done. Little bits of his work here and there - little tokens of his love, left for us to benefit from long after he left.
Some time in July, one of my tires developed a slow leak, but with the hours I was working, I didn't have a chance to get it patched. Wyatt would ride his bike to where I worked, every evening, just before I got off work, and air up my tire, then he'd ride home. I didn't know he'd been there until I went to go home, and the tire was full. Even when I worked late - he'd ride all the way across town, in the dark, carrying an air tank, so I could get home.
Every night when I got off work - didn't matter if it was 7, or 10 PM, he'd be standing just inside the breezeway door to jump out and spook me when I got home.
We tried to go to Bible study at church each week. At first, I would pick him up at the house after I got off work, but that made us late, so he would ride his bike to the church and meet me there. After Bible study was over, he would load his bike in the back of my car, and we would ride home together.
Every week, when I would turn the corner towards the church, I'd see him park his bike behind the sign, and then jump behind the tree in an attempt to spook me when I pulled up - having no idea I'd seen the whole thing.
It was at these Bible studies, and church on Sundays, that he taught the Pastor's daughter to shake hands, and every time she would see him, her little hand would come out for him to shake, and they'd both be grinning from ear to ear.
We spent countless nights, sitting up in my room until the wee hours of the morning, just talking.
He and I were never super close growing up. We both "marched to a different drummer". As my beliefs began to change several years ago, his did too - but not in the same direction. When I left home, he felt I had betrayed the family, and he said things that hurt me very deeply. We tried to be friendly towards each other, but we couldn't talk very long before one of us would erupt.
But last summer, we really got to know each other, and work through our differences. While we never came to an agreement on most things - we finally understood each other, and when he left - I can honestly say - we were best friends.
Some nights I'd get off work and he'd still be working on the roof, or the deck, and we'd sit out there together and talk.
Some nights he came up to my room and we checked out my book collection, laughed, cried, and dreamed.
Some nights he'd be sitting in the recliner, snipping plastic strips into squares, preparing it for being melted and repurposed (I still can't throw away a shampoo bottle without thinking he'll come rescue it and chop into bits for recycling), and I'd sit in my chair crocheting and listening to music. One late night yarn "doodle" turned into the start of an afghan because he thought it was really pretty.
There were times I'd forget I had earbuds in, and start humming the harmony to whatever I was listening to. He would start waving his hand in front of my face and demand to know what I was doing *laughs*, then I'd give him the earbuds, and in the middle of the song crank the volume up and watch him give me this slow, sideways glare that would gradually turn into a grin. There's certain songs, if I close my eyes, I can still hear the "snip, snip" of his plastic, and think if I turn my head, I'll see him sitting there, staring at his work, mulling over some weighty matter, oblivious to world around him.
Oma had certain shows she'd watch on TV every night. Now I can't hear the theme songs for Andy Griffith or Hogan's Heros without hearing him whistling along with it.
I usually had Thursdays off, and once in a very great while, I would end up with a weekend off. If for some reason we didn't end up going to Sioux Falls or running errands (which only happened a handful of times), I would practice piano for church, and he'd get out his violin - we'd start at the front of the hymnal, and play every song we knew, every now and then switching instruments - he got the biggest kick out of the fact that mom had no idea we had switched. We weren't sure if we were that good, or that bad. *laughs*
Now I can't hear a violin or any of those hymns without thinking of those days, and in my minds eye, seeing him standing beside and slightly behind me at the piano.
September 8th, 2018. I got some news that was very hard for me to process. It was painful. I just wanted to get off by myself and think. So, after work I hopped on my bike and took off around the bike trail. Wyatt wanted to go along, I didn't want anyone along, but he did his puppy eyes, and I gave in. We went halfway around at high speed (when I'm thinking hard, I set a really fast pace) before he, out of breath, caught up to me and asked if we could go a little slower. I felt bad, because I forgot he was even there.
That was the last time we rode bike together. I couldn't even walk the trail again, because it didn't seem right to go without him.
Saturday, September 15th, 2018. Somehow, I had the weekend off. I was still trying to process things, and just wanted one day away from people. For some reason I had to go to Sioux Falls that day, but thought at least I'd have the time in the car to myself. Wyatt heard I was going, and asked if he could go along. I protested, because that would mean I wouldn't have any alone time. But, he got such a sad look on his face, and said "I'll be going home soon, and don't know when I'll see you again. Can't I go along? It might be our last chance to spend time together." How could I say no to that?
We had a blast. All we did was run errands, but we took our time and had fun. The whole time in the car we giggled up a storm. His quirky sense of humor got my mind off all the gloomies of the previous weeks. We even let ourselves dream about a bright future, that both of us had trouble believing would ever happen.
We somehow got on the subject of middle names, and he randomly asked "What is my middle name?" shocked that he had forgotten, I answered "Lynwood.......", and he said "I knew that, I mean, does it have one or two 'N's' in it?" Just two weeks later I was remembering that conversation, and somehow it seemed like something that happened in another life time, or that I'd read in a book - how could it be, he had been in the ground a whole day, and it had only been two weeks since we'd had that conversation?
Sunday, September 16th, 2018. We went out to lunch with people from church, and then spent the afternoon playing piano and violin together again, that time, starting in the back of the book and working toward the front.
Thursday, September 20th, 2018. We (Mom, Oma and I) took Wyatt to the bus station. We got there early, so sat in the car waiting for the bus to get there. It was a chilly, rainy day. Wyatt kept hugging each of us, and saying he had to "get in as many as possible, because I don't know when I'll see you again, and there has to be enough to last until then". His hugs were what my sister calls "sticky cheese hugs". He would drape himself on you, and if you tried to push him off, the minute you stopped pushing, he'd snap back. And, he usually decided we needed a hug right when we were in the middle of something, like washing dishes (and he'd about dunk you in the sink), or writing something, doing laundry, etc. Always when you weren't really in a position to be giving or receiving hugs, and he usually came from behind, so you couldn't hug back even if you wanted to.
This time, he kept making the rounds, giving each of us a bunch of hugs. The bus pulled up, unloaded, and started reloading, and he was still making his rounds hugging each of us. I was concerned he was going to miss the bus (I only wish he had...) so pushed him off and told him to get going.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked back toward the bus, and saw him standing in line, wearing his black Stetson, and carrying his violin case. I waved, but he didn't see me. The thought shot through my mind, "this is the last time you'll see him alive". I thought that was odd, and pushed it from my mind. We then went on with our day. Picked up some people that missed the connecting bus, and took them to Walmart for supplies to get through the night - while we were there Wyatt texted "Tell Mom Danny is picking me up at the bus station". I'd been having trouble with limited memory on my phone, so deleted the message, and told Mom what he said.
That night I went to Bible study alone. It felt weird not having Wyatt along. Everyone asked about him, and I told them he was on the bus heading home.
Sunday, September 23rd, 2018. I worked until close to 10:30 that night. It had been a very long, hard day at work, and I was glad it was over. As I was about to head upstairs to get ready for bed, my sister called, frantic. All we could get out of what she was saying was that there had been an accident, and we didn't know who, but someone was hurt. At first I thought it was both Dad and Wyatt. Then she put Dad on and he said they were sleeping when a tree branch fell on the tent and hit Wyatt in the head. EMT's were taking him to the hospital, they'd call us when they got there. They didn't know how bad it was, only that he was still breathing, but wouldn't wake up.
Mom said for me to go on to bed, she'd wake me up when they knew something. I knew a head injury like that probably wasn't survivable, so I insisted we go out without waiting for a phone call. I threw an overnight bag together for Mom and I, we jumped in the car, and drove all night. We made the 7 hour drive in 5 hours.
We got to Rapid City Regional about 5:30 CST. Dad and Amber gave us the story of what happened. I talked to the nurse, asked how bad it was, and what his chances were. She told me the end of the branch had cracked his left temple, and fractured the top of his jaw. His brain had been jarred, and disconnected enough that he wasn't getting enough blood/oxygen to his brain, so they needed to bring his blood pressure up in hopes of reaching the brain in time to avoid extensive damage. They had drilled a small hole in his head and put a monitor on his brain, to watch the pressure. They were giving him a drug to bring the pressure up, but his body was fighting it, so they were giving him a massive dose. They couldn't do any kind of operation until the pressure was normal. She said his chances of survival were very low, possibly around 30%. If he survived, he would essentially be a vegetable, and need years of therapy, and even then he probably wouldn't ever get back to normal. I requested she not tell the rest of the family, we were already struggling to keep it together, that knowledge would just make it so much harder. I regret asking, because I feel like I kept focusing on that instead of believing for a miracle, and maybe I didn't believe hard enough.... (I know that's not right thinking, that God is sovereign and does as He pleases, whether we believe or not - but false beliefs still take root so easily).
Mom and I sat with Wyatt for a while. The whole time, his legs kept half moving, half twitching. The nurse told me that was essentially the effect of nerves after trauma. Mom refused to leave Wyatt's side, so Dad sat with her, and I went with Amber to the waiting room, and we tried to rest. About 7:30 CST Dad came in and said that blood had come out the hole where the monitor was. He hoped that meant the pressure had finally come up, and maybe he would start improving from then on. We all agreed, holding on to any hope we could see. I realize now, that most likely was the moment he died, and his body stopped fighting the drug they were giving him, so his blood pressure shot way up, and caused it to come out the hole.
We all went and stood around his bed, waiting for the doctor to come do a test to see if there was any brain activity. Wyatt's legs weren't moving anymore. When the doctor got there, everyone left the room, but I chose to stay. I didn't want to risk them pronouncing him "brain dead" if there was any chance something could be done.
The doctor started the test. He touched a cloth to Wyatt's eyes, to see if he would flinch. Then he shined a light directly in his eyes to see if they would dilate or if he would blink. Wyatt used to put a flashlight to my eye, and if I blinked, I lost, and he would try it too. He always won. We used to stand in the back yard and stare wide-eyed into the sun, and the first one to blink, lost. As I stood watching the doctor shine a light in his eyes, I wanted to shout "This isn't a contest! Just blink already!" - but nothing happened.
The doctor then said he had other tests to try, but needed a completely sterile environment, so I had to leave the room.
About 11 AM CST the doctor came to us in the waiting room and said they declared him "Brain Dead", and they were going to unplug him. We asked for more time, a second opinion, anything. The doctor agreed to give us until noon MDT. I said that, if it was God's will for Wyatt to go, no machine could keep him here, but if it was His will for him to stay, he would keep breathing without the machine.
I knew he was gone. But I didn't want to admit it to myself. I watched them do the test. I knew what the monitors were saying - but I didn't want to believe it. We were still hoping and praying for a miracle.
I had asked how to read the monitor on the respirator. When they came to unplug him, my eyes were glued on that monitor - any indicator that he was breathing on his own, I wasn't going to miss it. The doctor had agreed, if he took even one breath on his own, they put him back on it. At least once, I was sure it registered a breath, and I yelled that he was breathing - but my mind had tricked me, there was nothing.
Once they unplugged him, everyone was all standing around praying over him. I was at the foot end of the bed, where I could see all of the monitors. I stood there, holding his toes (Mom and Dad were holding his hands), watching his heart rate and blood pressure rapidly drop well below lethal levels - not sure if I was praying, or just wishing really hard, that they would go up... just frozen to the spot, not wanting to watch, but unable to move... flat line is the worst sound in the whole world.
It was then that I regretted becoming a CNA. Because I knew enough to read the monitors and know what was going on - but not enough to be able to do anything. All I could do was watch my brother die.
When it was all over, and we had to leave the room - I realized, I had been so focused on the monitors, and hoping for a miracle, that I hadn't told him that I love him, or said goodbye. I turned back to say goodbye, and in my head I heard his voice, when he was getting on the bus "I hate goodbyes. It seems too final. I prefer 'see you later'." He was right. I couldn't say goodbye. It was too final. I just gave him one last hug, and under my breath, said "see you later".
When I think about it, I can still feel his coarse whiskers on my cheek.
Leaving the hospital without him was one of the hardest things I've ever done. The only thing that was worse, was seeing him being lowered into a hole, and knowing we would never see his face again. Never hear him laugh or see him smile. We had hugged him for the last time.
The first night without him - it didn't seem real. It was like a really bad dream, and we were hoping we'd wake up soon. It felt so wrong - we were all crying harder than we knew was humanly possible, and for the first time - he wasn't there to hug us and make it better. He was the comforter in the family. Any time anyone was sad, he'd be draped over them with his sticky hugs, and comforting us. This time he wasn't there - and never would be again. It just felt so wrong....
Even though I firmly believe in God's sovereignty over all things. I know the Bible says it is "appointed unto man once to die...". I still, at times, struggle with the thought that I essentially killed him, by not stopping them from unplugging him.
I know better. But the thought still creeps in from time to time.
While Wyatt was staying with us last summer, we would listen to various music, and he told me that one of his favorite songs was "Soar", by Buddy Davis. That song was such an encouragement to him after all that the family had been through. We decided to play that song at his funeral.
The day of his accident, at work, I had Ron Hamilton's song "Wings as Eagles" stuck in my head.
At the grave side, there were four eagles soaring over head.
That's why there's an eagle on his headstone, Isaiah 40:31, and a line from Davis' song "When the storms of life awaken ~ Soar".
Wyatt was such a caring, giving person. He never had much - but what he had, he shared with, or gave to others. The most meaningful gift he ever gave us was his time.
I came across a song by Paul Brandt called "Give it Away" ~
Ready or not
Take your best shot 'cause here life comes
You use what you got, and you got it all when you've got love
But we hide it and we store it up, and there never seems to be enough.
This world is spinning so fast, ain't no slowing it down
And there ain't a lot that lasts
But I think I've found a way to make it stay
You've got to give it away.
Talk about time
And it's flown away before you're done.
And money is fine, but one day its here and next its gone.
So love is looking like a sure bet,
'cause the more you give, the more you get.
Oh this world is spinning so fast,
Ain't no slowing it down.
And there ain't a lot that lasts,
But I think I've found a way to make love stay
Oh and someday everybody dies
But not everybody really lives.
And when it's my turn to say goodbye,
I don't want nothing left to give.
This world is spinning so fast
Ain't no slowing it down now,
And there ain't a lot that lasts,
But I think I've found it
Oh this world is spinning so fast
There ain't no slowing it down.
And there ain't a lot that lasts,
But I think I've found a way to make it stay -
You've got to give it away.
When it was Wyatt's time to go - he loved us so well, he had "nothing left to give".
I alternate between mourning that he was "taken too early", and being thankful for the time he was given to us.
If there's one thing Wyatt left as his legacy, it would be his servants heart (along with his interesting sense of humor *grins*).
He was quick to serve. Always gave the benefit of the doubt. Rarely judged anyone for disagreeing, but tried to see their point of view. He had big ideas and outlandish dreams - but he payed close attention to detail, and nothing was too insignificant a task. He put the same care into sweeping a floor as he did designing a blueprint. He made toddlers feel as important as the grown-ups. He didn't think it was girly to cuddle a baby for hours, or cook for the family - but he wouldn't hesitate to patch your roof or mow your lawn.
He was a deep thinker - but could turn silly without warning. Even his silliness was deeply thought out. *laughs* He could solve the toughest problems, and turn the littlest thing into a joke. He loved to play with words. Whether it was rearranging them to be funny, or mangling the word itself. Nothing was off limits. Everything you said could, and would be twisted or taken a different direction than you intended - just to prove it could be done.
Since last summer, I've noticed my sense of humor has morphed into a form of his. I don't want to see his sense of humor die. If there's anything he did that rubs off - I want it to be his servants heart, and ruthless logic. He was so logical it made me mad sometimes. Not because he was wrong, but because it showed up how illogical I can be.
All growing up, he would get upset that I wanted to do the same things he was doing. After all, he was four years older, and he should get to do it first.
All last summer, he kept talking about wanting to go home. He wasn't anxious to die. He just wanted a place to call home. He wanted a proper house, that actually had running water and working plumbing. One that he didn't have to worry about how long he could stay - it would be his, and he could stay forever.
I know. He doesn't have to get anything ready there for us - but that's the kind of person he was. He'd want to go first, to make sure everything was ready for us. It's only fitting he should go first. After all, he's the oldest.
I don't know how to write a proper tribute to him. He was always mangling words - yet, I can't find the right ones to do him justice.
One thing is certain: when God invented biological brothers - He gave me the best one. I have the two best brothers ever imagined. One biological, one "adopted". Both are missed more than words can ever express.
These two are mine. Always will be 💙💙
