Advertisement Travel with me back to New Year’s Day 1957. I was 17, a high school senior. It was 5:20 a.m. when the phone rang. It was the hospital. All in our South Dakota household got the news that brother Gaylerd was gone. He was 19.
His death should not have sent shock waves through our family of 11, but it did. There had been 15 months of doctoring while he battled acute leukemia.
My brother was on his way to a life of enrichment. So I cling, after more than 50 years, to “what might have been.”
Gaylerd was 17 months my senior. While our personalities were miles apart, we were close. I was awestruck by his ability to quickly master skills, some still foreign to me. But he was patient in knowing that his skills were not mine.
When diagnosed with his illness, he was a college student in industrial arts. In his short time there, he turned out many beautiful pieces of furniture. I believe this was his calling.
He was handy with hammers and saws and pliers and the like, and drawing up a blueprint was no problem. On the other hand, when I put a hammer to a nail, I cringe knowing the nail on a finger might be the target. And I’m not all that great with maps.
He could tear down and repair an engine. Reassembling it was not a problem. He could have become a successful mechanic. On the other hand, I’m thankful there are garages to help me.
Rifle in hand, he could stop a running jackrabbit in its tracks from a great distance. On the other hand, I had trouble avoiding the dreaded Maggie’s drawers red flag on the Army rifle range. He would have enjoyed life as a hunter.
As a hard-hitting high school football star (six-man), he was known to break a leg or two. Selected all-state, he would have had little problem in college ranks and beyond. On the other hand, the gridiron didn’t treat me well. I recall the ridicule of a tackle taking me down with the grab of a shoelace.
My brother saw beauty in the most unusual things. It was he who, in springtime, would bring our mother a dandelion bouquet. Little doubt he would have been a wonderful family man.
I am proud that my brother worked his talents and pursued his dreams. For me (and hopefully for you), his life is a lesson that death knows no age. Life is ours to enjoy.
