Well, after a three week hiatus I am back. I will pick up writing about my vocational journey after the first of the year, but today I want to honor the brief but beautiful life of my youngest brother, Don. Yesterday on December 22nd, he would have been 65 years old. He only made it to 20. Don was killed in an automobile accident on St. Patrick’s Day 1979. I will skip the tragic details.
I was nine years old when Don was born. I’ll never forget going downstairs from my bedroom to find a message written on the dining room chalk board. “Congratulations Kids—you have a new baby brother. Donald Paul Pumphrey—10 pounds 4 ounces and 22 inches long. We were greeted by a wonderful woman named Mrs. Bird, “You can just call me Birdie”. For the next 50 years Birdie became more than a nanny, she became part of our family.
Somewhere around aged one I became “Ba”. I remained Ba for the next 20 years. Tonight as I write this, the grief I continue to experience is a reminder that time can only heal so much. Don left a huge hole in our family and for the many who knew him.
Here is list of descriptors that might paint a picture of him: kind, brilliant, funny, generous, handsome, tall, musical, loving, extraverted, tender, complex, troubled, hard working, interesting, and naive.
I want to talk about grief. In my more philosophical and pastoral moments I would say “Grief is a gift. We can only grieve those people and realities that bring deep connection”. Tonight, after once again walking the path of sadness of loss and that which will never be, I would trade all the gifts of what was, for one long conversation with Don sitting by my fire. Don’s birth and the holidays always connect.
This brings me to another remembrance of Don. He loved, and I do mean LOVED Christmas. As a kid he would begin marking up catalogues with his wish list by mid October. It was certainly fun for me, as a young teen to share in things like the complete Beverly Hillbillies truck with characters.
When Don was 11 he won a national contest with Baskin Robins Ice Cream. It was a contest sponsored jointly by BR and the Department of the Interior. It was to simply complete the second line of a jingle—“This Land is your land_________”. Don’s entry was “Give it all you have got its all we have”. The 1000’s of entries were judged by Burl Ives, a classic folk singer. He picked Don. Don won an all expense 1st Class trip to Washington, DC. He had to have a chaperone and chose me. It was everything that was advertised and more. I will never forget Don walking into Rogers Morton, the Secretary of the Interior’s, office. We all stood back and watched this very stately man greet Don. “Well Don, congratulations, do you have any questions”? “Yes sir, what are you going to do about the environment”? The Secretary fumbled a bit, and then said, “I guess you might say there is no more important question”? This was 1971. Don, I wish I could say we have done well but we all know better.
The night Don was killed I happened to back in Pueblo on a break. I can still see him headed out the front door of my parents’s home. He turned and looked at me and said, “Mark, I want to talk to you about the Gospel of Luke someday”. We never had that conversation. This week Luke’s narrative takes center stage. Don, when I hear it I will remember you as a shooting star…
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 