When I began this little ‘project’, this life story, this telling of tales, I thought to myself – this cannot last long, how many stories could I possibly tell, 10, 25, 50? And here I am now at story 199! I’m finally beginning to get to a point to where I might be able to soon see the end of the tunnel. When I run out of memories, I’ll stop. For now though, there’s still more to share so stop your applause. You’re being rude.
My brother Mike, the youngest boy in the Wyatt part of our diversified clan, died recently. Tall like my Grandad, he stood about 6’4 or 5″ and weighed over 400 pounds at the end. He is the first to pass amongst me and my siblings. When you’re young or even old and healthy, dying seems improbable, something that happens to other people, not you. But eventually death grabs each of us by the throat and chokes the life out of us. When it chokes someone you grew up with or perhaps someone you love, it punches you in the stomach, wakes you up, makes you realize that your time is coming. It’s right around the corner.
This story is nothing close to a compendium of Mike’s life story. I am not qualified to write that. I was really not that close to Mike. Some of the memories I plan to write about include Mike, but will appear separately. Perspectives are our truths and this story is my perspective; my truth about what I recall about my baby brother Mike. Continue reading