Shadow

Daloinge or udxl(depending upon who’s translation one wants to use) is the Cherokee word for shadow. My brother used he first one, and signed all his work as “shadow”.  He adopted that name after tracing our family roots and being given entrance to the tribe.  We are part of the Bear clan, and that is is part of his artwork, a big bear pawprint within the artwork itself.  I’ve been thinking of him a lot lately.  I guess because it is almost anniversary of his passing too soon(9 yrs next month) and of course his birthday is next month as well..autumnal equinox, born on the cusp of Virgo/Libra.  My brother, Rick, and I were extremely close.  “Irish twins” my Gran called us.  he was born 8 days before my first birthday, so I guess we were destined to do everything together.  I miss him more this time of year than any other ..maybe in part because our birthdays are so close and they are coming up, but also because there are things that I didn’t understand about our heritage that I would love to ask him about now.  Things about his spirit journey and about what the desert spoke to him that called him so often. I didn’t understand how he could want to live alone away from family out on the streets, and while I know some of it may have been attributed to his mental illness(schizophrenia), some of it was indeed spiritual.  It was reflected in his artwork which was so amazing.  he worked for some time for Harley Davidson at all the major bike shows, sometimes tagging along with some friends and drawing patterns for the tattoo shows as well.  I shook my head in amazement at all the places he went and the people he met.  But mental illness, drugs and alcohol often bring genius to its knees and he was no exception.  He got so sick before his death, that a man in Arizona put him on a bus to come home to us..to me.  We never did find that person..divine intervention maybe, IDK…I had to become his guardian and have him committed to  make him stay in one place so that he could have the valve replaced in his heart.  That is by far the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life..become responsible for someone else outside of my children for their mental, and physical well-being.  It hurt for him to face me with accusing eyes and demand to know why I was locking him up…I cried all the way home, even though I knew that it was for his benefit.  He had the surgery and I wore his ring..silver, tiger eye freeform, made on the reservation in Arizona especially for him.  “I get that back” he tells me smiling…”Maybe” I tell him, laughing.  He did in fact get it back….I put it on his finger when he was back in his room.  It is one of the few things that made it back home with his body upon his death.  I wear it daily now…it connects me with his spirit, I feel his presence when I look at it.  Someone once told me its a portal for him to come and go at will as our connection was very strong.  I don’t know if this is true, but it’s a comforting thought.  I’m not sure why I write about Rick tonight..maybe it’s because others have experienced loss and it connected with me..the difficulties in having a sibling with problems and how the family reacts to them…it’s difficult trying to be the “voice of reason” with someone who’s addictions coupled with mental illness makes them less than reasonable.  It’s hard trying to help pick up the pieces of their lives over and over again when they in their destructive madness seem intent on destroying themselves at every turn.  Sometimes people have to turn away because they can’t handle the pain..our parents did.  They loved him in their way I guess, but he always felt like he didn’t measure up to the military ideal of our dad,or  what my mother envisioned for his life as her only son.  She tried over and over again, but in the end, she could not be there for him when he was ill and needed a guardian.  Enter the ‘twin”. Rick even told his psychiatrist I was his twin…he was the shadow,I was the conscience.  Good analogy I guess.  I always have had opinion of how I thought he should be living and showcasing his work..but it wasn’t his ideal life, so was not to be. So tonight, I lift a drink in his honor and remember his wicked sense of humor that seems to be revisited in my son and grandson Benson, Check out his amazing artwork as I pull them out and look through them and smile as I look over old photographs of us as kids and play “remember when”… It’s been a nostalgic mood as of late, and I’m not sure what or why it’s there, so I’ll just use it to remember some of my favorite people and cherish the love that graced my life while they were with me, and feel the warmth of their spirit as they come.

PEACE OUT