Tom U'Ren (1979-2007)
My phone rang at 4:30 this morning. I looked to see "Mom and Dad" were calling and hit the hang-up button. My dad never seems to remember that Pacific Time is two hours behind Central Time. Then again, my parents don't call me that often and when they do, it's usually important.
Shortly after laying back down a new message chimed in on my phone. Slightly more awake and realizing my parents wouldn't be calling me for nothing at 4:30 in the morning I decided to listen. "Hi Ben, it's Dad. It's early. Call me as soon as you get this. This is urgent." He didn't sound well at all. "Shit, bad news," I said to Carrie who fell asleep with me the night before watching T.V. I proped myself up against the wall and dialed home. Busy. Second time, busy. Third time.
My dad sounded like he does when he answers the phone while "I was just doing some work for Mother," or when "I've been gettin' some stuff done." He was out of breath and flustered. But this time there was no cheer in his voice. "Ben, Tom was killed in a car accident last night." Screw having his world tipped upside down, the globe was rolling out of control over a cliff.
My stomach turned immediately. "I'm sorry," were the only words immediately coming to mind. "Who is there with you?" My could only articulate that the police were on their way out and "some pastor guy" was talking to my mom. I told him I would be home soon and he hung up.
You'll never realize how much a person means to you until they are gone. My older brother and I didn't always get along as well as we could have. We were different people who lived totally different lifestyles. We had different attitudes about nearly everything. Tom caused me a lot of stress growing up with things there's no need to go into here. Only now that he is gone can I look back and realize that a brother is a brother despite the bond we perceive. A brother is a Brother.
The only material thing I have to remember him is an old Sugar tape, a band he introduced me to when I was in the fourth grade. He mailed it out to me a few years ago because he remembered how much I liked it when I was younger with the case decorated and everything. When we lived in St. Paul, Tom had divided a small corner of his room off with a small shelf holding his stereo, covered the walls with aluminum foil to enhance the effect of his blacklight, and plopped a bean bag chair down next to the shelf where he used to let me sit and listen to the tape.
Up until a couple of weeks ago, I had a couple pens he had given me during one of my visits. We had got to talking about the importance of a good pen and how once you find one you tend to hang onto it. During the conversation, he got up and went down to his room to find a couple for me. One advertised Viagra, and the other, Rolling Rock beer. Not only were they decent pens as far as how smoothly they write and how they feel in your hand, but they described my brother perfectly. Above all, Tom liked to have a good time. Those pens were one of the first things I thought about after hanging up with my dad. Unfortunately, I threw them away.
Those stupid pens now have value, but they are now sitting in a pile of trash somewhere. I'd feel closer to my brother if I had them with me now. I'm sitting here recalling things from memory in hopes that I will never forget them. All the times he stuck up for me when people gave me a hard time. The bike ride he took me on along the Mississippi River and the trails he led me down. How when I would come home to visit and he'd stop suddenly and jerk his body as if he were suprised to see me or how he would squint his eyes as he took a drag from his cigarette. Our late night conversations around the kitchen table which always began with him grabbing me a beer out of the fridge, and always included him throwing his arms out to his sides and saying, "Hell, I'll be glad if I see 35!" with a smirk.
Most of all, I've been trying to engrain the memory of his voice. Hearing him talk in my head is what brings forth visual memories of my brother. The voice is also one of the hardest things for me to remember. I've tried many times to remember the voices of my biological mother and father, and just can't do it. I don't want to forget Tom's voice.
Shortly after laying back down a new message chimed in on my phone. Slightly more awake and realizing my parents wouldn't be calling me for nothing at 4:30 in the morning I decided to listen. "Hi Ben, it's Dad. It's early. Call me as soon as you get this. This is urgent." He didn't sound well at all. "Shit, bad news," I said to Carrie who fell asleep with me the night before watching T.V. I proped myself up against the wall and dialed home. Busy. Second time, busy. Third time.
My dad sounded like he does when he answers the phone while "I was just doing some work for Mother," or when "I've been gettin' some stuff done." He was out of breath and flustered. But this time there was no cheer in his voice. "Ben, Tom was killed in a car accident last night." Screw having his world tipped upside down, the globe was rolling out of control over a cliff.
My stomach turned immediately. "I'm sorry," were the only words immediately coming to mind. "Who is there with you?" My could only articulate that the police were on their way out and "some pastor guy" was talking to my mom. I told him I would be home soon and he hung up.
You'll never realize how much a person means to you until they are gone. My older brother and I didn't always get along as well as we could have. We were different people who lived totally different lifestyles. We had different attitudes about nearly everything. Tom caused me a lot of stress growing up with things there's no need to go into here. Only now that he is gone can I look back and realize that a brother is a brother despite the bond we perceive. A brother is a Brother.
The only material thing I have to remember him is an old Sugar tape, a band he introduced me to when I was in the fourth grade. He mailed it out to me a few years ago because he remembered how much I liked it when I was younger with the case decorated and everything. When we lived in St. Paul, Tom had divided a small corner of his room off with a small shelf holding his stereo, covered the walls with aluminum foil to enhance the effect of his blacklight, and plopped a bean bag chair down next to the shelf where he used to let me sit and listen to the tape.
Up until a couple of weeks ago, I had a couple pens he had given me during one of my visits. We had got to talking about the importance of a good pen and how once you find one you tend to hang onto it. During the conversation, he got up and went down to his room to find a couple for me. One advertised Viagra, and the other, Rolling Rock beer. Not only were they decent pens as far as how smoothly they write and how they feel in your hand, but they described my brother perfectly. Above all, Tom liked to have a good time. Those pens were one of the first things I thought about after hanging up with my dad. Unfortunately, I threw them away.
Those stupid pens now have value, but they are now sitting in a pile of trash somewhere. I'd feel closer to my brother if I had them with me now. I'm sitting here recalling things from memory in hopes that I will never forget them. All the times he stuck up for me when people gave me a hard time. The bike ride he took me on along the Mississippi River and the trails he led me down. How when I would come home to visit and he'd stop suddenly and jerk his body as if he were suprised to see me or how he would squint his eyes as he took a drag from his cigarette. Our late night conversations around the kitchen table which always began with him grabbing me a beer out of the fridge, and always included him throwing his arms out to his sides and saying, "Hell, I'll be glad if I see 35!" with a smirk.
Most of all, I've been trying to engrain the memory of his voice. Hearing him talk in my head is what brings forth visual memories of my brother. The voice is also one of the hardest things for me to remember. I've tried many times to remember the voices of my biological mother and father, and just can't do it. I don't want to forget Tom's voice.
posted by Ben U'Ren at 10:21 AM
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