NO WORDS NECESSARY . . . 'cept for UGLY

A YEAR WITHOUT

Silence. The quiet of the house this morning is a reminder, a metaphor for the quiet experienced these last 12 months. Fifty two weeks ago today, in a phone call with another brother, word was passed that our two brothers were gone. One, our oldest, was irrefutably, irrevocably crossed over, and not coming back. Sixty two years was all he had, and if truth were told the last thirty five of those years were a crap-shoot, a roller coaster ride of a strand of bare avoidance of an earlier departure. The other, was a pronouncement by the brother that this one "had been dead for a long time" no emotion, no hesitation, no compassion whatsoever. Too much to take at the time.

The year that has ensued has not been without its joys - many of them vicariously enjoyed. Great accomplishments by other family members, great gatherings with friends - by the shore, around the Christmas tree, at the church, at the ball games, at the track. But all the while, the silence is there, and its stinging darkness waits for when the revelry dies down, and the guests have gone home, and it crawls in and stays there, saying nothing, hearing nothing, doing nothing.

Lingering questions. Was it intentional or an accident? Was it all about fear of the future? Was it conscious cowardice or chemically induced impulse? Was there something - or something more that could have been done to stave it off? None of these are settled within LOST's own head, these questions that cannot be posed to the one who is gone. Nor can these issues be discussed with the one who won't speak - who in the process confirms the diagnosis of the other brother.