My Brother Donnie

ES Dispersals Hanna Lindgren

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Donnie died today. Of the three of us who remained from a group of Vietnam veterans and friends that came together nearly forty years ago, there are now just two.

I learned of his death in a text message. It was completely unexpected, and the shock was unlike anything I can remember experiencing on hearing of someone's passing. I was sitting on the edge of my bed when I read the message, and it felt like a physical blow to the heart. I could feel it throughout my body. I've lost many people I've loved over the years, but this was different.

Donnie and I were very close. There was a time, about five years into my sobriety, when I was going through considerable emotional turmoil. I hadn't returned to drinking, but in other respects my life had fallen apart. I was destitute and struggling. During that period I moved next door to Donnie, and we became part of each other's everyday lives. We knew one another in ways that are difficult to put into words.

Years later, Donnie suffered his first stroke. He managed to reach me by telephone, but his speech was so badly affected that when someone eventually went to check on him, they thought he was drunk. I went over and realised immediately that something was seriously wrong. I called the emergency services, and he was taken to hospital. I have often thought about that day and how easily his condition might have been misunderstood.

Over the years, Donnie suffered several more strokes, eventually developing dementia. For a long time he was unable to hold a conversation or recognise the people who came to see him. On my last visit, however, he looked at me, and for a moment I saw what seemed to be recognition in his eyes. I think he even managed to say my name.

It was a small moment, but one I'll always remember.

Only yesterday I was writing about these men and what they have meant to me. They took me into their lives nearly forty years ago, when I was finding my way through recovery, and became the closest thing to a family of brothers I could have wished for. We shared an enormous amount over those years, and I've watched so many of them die. I knew, of course, that Donnie's health had been declining for a long time. Even so, I wasn't prepared for the news today.

I think part of what makes this loss so difficult is that Donnie was one of the very few people still alive who knew me through that particular chapter of my life. We had been through so much together. There was a history between us that didn't need explaining.

Tonight I'm sitting quietly at home, with my cat Ben beside me, trying to take in what has happened. There's a great deal of sadness, and I expect there will be for some time.

But I'm also aware of how fortunate I was to have known Donnie and to have shared so much of my life with him. The friendship, the memories, and especially the love we had for one another remain very much alive in me.

I will miss him terribly.

Thank you, Donnie, for being my brother. I love you, and I always will.

Nigel

May the work offered here serve peace, serve healing, serve remembrance, and serve the quiet dignity of being alive. May this sanctuary belong not to one person alone, but to the field of life itself.

And may all who encounter it feel, even for a moment, that nothing is missing and they are not alone.