Weekend with Dick

Some days I miss my mother more so than on other days.  Usually they have been milestones in my life that I really wish she had been there for - my wedding, the birth of my son, the birth of my grandson, times of extreme illness, times of questioning my existence, etc.  Last Saturday was one of those days.  After 40 years, I was finally heading to the airport to pick up my older brother, Dick.  

As Oliver and I made our way to Pensacola, I couldn't help but glance over and secretly wish it were my mom sitting in the seat next to me.  It should have been.  Dick is her oldest boy and she had seen him off to the Army with the expectation that he would arrive home within a reasonable amount of time.  We saw him a couple of times while he was in the Army when he came home on leave, but we were looking forward to the day that we'd pick him up and not have to worry about taking him back to the airport for another run overseas.  

I was crazy excited and a bit nervous too.  Kinda felt like I was going on that blind date that you've only heard good things about the other person and you're so aftraid of buying into the hype for fear of being let down.  You know what I mean?  The last time I saw him in person he was 25 and I was a mere 15.  We were very young.  Was he expecting the skinny legged little sister who adored and idolized him?  Was that girl still hidden somewhere inside this very battered middle age body tethered to an oxygen machine and getting about in a wheelchair?  Was he still going to be the sweet spirited young man that I thought was going to be the catch of the day for some lucky lady?  The anticipation mounted as we got to the airport through the driving rain.  

I spotted him immediately, both wanting to and afraid to make eye contact.  What if it was the wrong guy?  What if he didn't want to meet my eye contact?  What if, once more, I felt rejected?  How would I react?  Will I cry, will I laugh, will I feel anything?  After all 40 years is a long, long time and I can honestly say that in that time I had felt every emotion known to man regarding my brother.  

The ride home was long and arduous.  I attributed the silence in the car to the weather, or at least that was my hope.  The rain was coming down extremely hard and it made it very difficult to see the road.  We finally made it to Crestview and the rain let up a bit so we decided to stop and get a bite to eat.  As soon as we sat down, we started talking and outside of a few hours sleep over the next day and half, we didn't stop.  It certainly didn't take Oliver and Dick long to find their common ground and gain up on me.  Truth be told, I wouldn't have had it any other way.  

During the times we were alone, we got to discuss some pretty heavy issues about our growing up years.  It was fascinating to see how we could grow up in the same house, with some of the very same situations being presented and yet react to them so totally different or have contrasting perceptions.  A lot of it was the age difference, he is after all, 10 years my senior and some was gender specific.  He's definitely fallen on the male side of the spectrum.  Then there was that whole left brain/right brain thing going on.  He being of a scientific, matter of fact, get to the point kind of mind and mine being the more relaxed, let's take the long way around the subject, writer kind of mind.  We met somewhere in the middle and got through a lot of years.  

I know y'all want to know exactly why he didn't come home and how on earth he could stay gone for 40 years without letting us know.  Am I right?  Well, the answer is really multi-dimensional and not quite so easy to pinpoint.  Some of it he's still working out in his own mind before he can stand at the free throw line and tip it into my mind.  The easy answer is that he didn't want to come home.  There were issues that he had gotten away from for 5 years and he was hesitant to be forced to fall into old patterns.  That I accepted wholeheartedly and kinda figured that it was the case.  Where it got a little stickier is how he could do that to ME.  He had to know I'd wonder.  He had to know I'd be concerned.  He had to know I'd be very, very hurt.  In all fairness, he doesn't remember writing the letter stating when he was coming home.  During that time he was going through a very difficult breakup with his girlfriend and was very depressed.  He's not disputing writing it - he just flat out doesn't remember it.  Shortly after the time I told him we got the letter, he said he had gotten an incredible job opportunity to stay over there and make some very good money.  He chose the job.  Then, time just slipped away from him.  He buried himself into his work.  The longer the time got since his last call, the more hesitant he was to call.  We've all done that.  We think of someone but then talk ourselves out of calling them - they're too busy, we're gonna get and earful as to why we hadn't called, there could be emotions and we all know guys don't like to do emotions.  I got it.  

He had no idea that my mom had gotten sick and passed away in January, 1974.  Family history at that time showed longevity on our side.  He had no idea of a multitude of other things that happened in the last 40 years.  Mercifully my blogs have filled him in on quite a bit.  Gotta say I'm grateful to God for having pressured me into writing them.  They sure came in handy.  We talked about many, many issues and other family members.  He filled in the blanks on his life - the usual... he was a workaholic and met his bride while working.  They have been married for 36 years this coming July.  No kids - too busy working - although they have had a few of the four legged variety gracing their hallways.  My new sister-in-law is an award winning author so he came loaded down with autographed copies of her books.  That excited me.  

We had no anger and we talked about how really easy it was to reconnect.  Our bond was always super strong and it literally just picked up where we left off.  Funny thing is that neither of us showed any great emotion.  That surprised me some, although I had spent so many years going over every possible scenario in my head, that this being the best case one, I was nothing but elated.  I'm sure that helped.  I did have a momentary lapse where I thought I might want to break out the Buford Pusser bat and take a few swings at his head but that was early on and fortunatelly that urge passed long before his plane touched down.  He had a few moments of getting choked up but I think he still was in a bit of a shock.  He's had a lot to process in a very short amount of time and while I know I was looking for him for 40 years, he got a call out of the blue from a retired police detective telling him I was wanting to talk to him.  

The last time I had a face to face with him was almost 41 years ago.  During that visit he had brought "the girlfriend" home and was trying to show off how tough he was by being less than friendly with Ken (our younger brother) and I.  He accused me of stealing his slide rules - precursors to the pocket calculators that have become a household word.  I didn't take them and told him I didn't.  He didn't believe me and caused quite the scene.  I was devastated beyond words.  A few months later I found them wrapped in a shirt and stuffed under the mattress of Kenny's bed up in the bed springs.  I have kept those stupid slide rules safe and secure for over 40 years.  Last week I was able to finally put them in the correct owners' hands and reclaim the real estate in my underwear drawer.  I sent him home with a whole bunch of pics that I had come across and he'll scan them when he finds the time.  I've had them for 40 years to safeguard - he can take over the next 40.  

We still have a lot of ground to catch up on and we will.  In the meantime, I'm getting my thoughts together to finally get started on that book that I've tossed around in my head.  It's going to be one of those "truth is stranger than fiction" books and I hope y'all will find it interesting.  I'm still processing my feelings but so far have done remarkably well.  Even leaving him at the airport was such a whirlwind that neither of us had time to even say more that the rushed good-bye so that he could get to his plane.  I know he'll be back one day and hopefully with his bride on his arm so I can meet my true to life sister-in-law.  I just wish I had more time.  I wish that this thing called Pulmonary Fibrosis wasn't eating away at my time on earth.  Then I turn around and can be nothing but grateful that I was able to find him at all.  The bulk of my family has gone to their grave not knowing.  We have some time left.  We both hope now that Ken can be found and then our family (what's left of it anyway) can be complete.  

Thanks for your prayers and thanks for standing by my side through this whole ordeal.  At times life has been so hard that I thought I'd crush under the sheer pain of it all but somehow I've survived, actuallly thrived, and come out stronger - with my tenacious spirit intact.  40 years - I never gave up - despite being advised again and again to let it go.  Some call it stubborn, I prefer tenacious.  Either way, I'm glad to finally have some closure and get some answers.  We can't turn the clock back and make it exactly like it used to be, we both have aged and changed, but we can take our meeting from now and move forward.  I, for one, am looking for many more talks and good times just like we used to do.  Oh and Dick, be careful, I've had a long time to brush up on my Monopoly and Scrabble skills.   :)   

You've Got Mail!

It was Thursday night and we were just kicking back, catching up on a bit of tv from the week. Since the Pulmonary Fibrosis has taken more and more of my everyday functions of life away, we have learned to DVR our favorite shows - even if we're watching them that night. This way if I happen to doze off, I can still watch them when I wake up. Plus if we get busy and can't sit down to catch them at their appointed times, we can still see them. It was during the first commercial break of NCIS that I decided to quickly check my email on my Kindle Fire while Oliver ran to the bathroom to take care of business. Sure enough, true to AOL form... You've Got Mail!

Right there before my eyes, the third email down, was an email that totally caught me off guard. Subject: Long Lost Brother, From: Dick Buchanan. I immediately just froze and sat staring at it. What the? Surely this was some kind of a cruel joke. Just about everybody outside of some of my newest friends on facebook knew that my older brother Dick had been missing for over 40 years. Despite several attempts through the years to track him down, I've never been able to find out if he was alive or dead. I sat there, continuing to stare at it - wanting to open it and yet afraid to at the same time. What if it was someone playing a joke? That would not be funny. Not funny at all. Somewhere in the recesses of a mind that I wasn't sure was serving me well, I remembered having recently forwarded his social security number and information to a private investigator who was going to try and help me find out if he had been one of the victims of John Wayne Gacy. Perhaps there was something to this after all.

With trepidation and anticipation I clicked it open. "Hi Peggy" it started. Ok, not very many people in my life get away with calling me Peggy. Nope, not many at all. Dick was one of those very few who did. I continued to read the email of how the private eye had contacted him and told him I had been looking for him - for forty years. The PI gave him my email address, home address and phone number and left if up to him to contact me. Knowing the PI, I knew he wouldn't have given my information out to just anybody unless he was pretty darn sure he had the right person. I had told him about the investigators that I had hired way back when my mother died and how I got calls all hours of the day and night from people claiming to be him. I had finally come up with questions that only my brother would have been able to answer, nobody else. That got rid of the bogus callers in short order. At first I thought I was going to have to brush the dust off those questions after I retrieved them from the deepest recesses of my mind.

I looked over and told Oliver that I had just received an email from some guy claiming to be Dick. He asked how I felt about it and I said that something about it rang true but I couldn't exactly say what. The guy claiming to be Dick had said that he'd call me on Saturday and we could talk. That would give me two days to think about it more. Needless to say, I felt a bit shocked. Why wouldn't the PI have called and given me a heads up? Then again, how else would somebody get my info if the PI didn't give it to him? I had mixed feelings. Dick had sent the email from a work email so I decided that I could go check the company website and see what I could find out. More and more companies are now including pictures of their employees on their websites and I was hoping that since it was a computer consulting company that they would have done just that. So over to the website I went. Right there on the front page was a face so familiar to me that I felt like it was literally coming alive right there on my screen. I gasped out an "Oh my God, it's him" and Oliver responded with "you're kidding?" "Nope it's him". "How can you tell?" "Look!"

In that moment, I experienced a gamut of emotions: denial, excitement, anger, angst, surprise,questions, fear, and then a compete and inexplicable peace. Anger was the hardest one to deal with. I was truly grateful that he is alive and doing well in the beautiful Northwest Territory of our fine country and then there was a part of me that kicked in that wanted to kill him for having put our whole family through such turmoil for so incredibly many years. Where was he? Why? etc., etc. Because of the Pulmonary Fibrosis, I have to be extra diligent that I don't get too stressed. So I literally had to talk myself down from feeling all that I was feeling. I told myself to calm down and give him the benefit of the doubt and hear what he had to say. No sense rehashing scenarios in my head that I had already gone over and over again for 40 years. A few deep breaths and I conquered that feat. Soon enough I'd have the answers I had been seeking all these years. At least then I'd be able to base my feeling on facts and not the "what ifs".

My first email after getting his was to my half sister, Jane, telling her I had heard from him and asking her if she'd bail me out when I killed him? Her reply to me was "hell, I'm bringing the shovel." Ok, guess we were both going to have to rely on Oliver to spring us if it came to that. My next email was to Dick himself letting him know that he could call me anytime. The sooner the better. First thing Friday morning the phone rang and it was him. We introduced each other and it only took 15 seconds for any anger or bitterness or any ill will I might have felt to completely melt away. I did ask what happened and you know what? His answer made perfect sense. He had changed his mind and at first was afraid of the earful he'd get calling home with the information, so he procrastinated (a family tradition) and then one month led to the next and before long, time had just gotten away. In his mind we had gone on with our lives without him for five years anyway and he didn't want to interfere with the lives we had forged out for ourselves. In all fairness, he had no idea of the hell we had been living while he was gone. That was one thing our family was masters of - hiding reality.

We were products of an alcoholic home. At first it was just social drinking between our parents and friends who used to like to have a good time. Then it morphed into heavier drinking as things became strained behind the closed doors of the old homestead. When I was 5 and Dick was 15, the final straw had broken the camel's back and dad walked out - one year after my mom's mom died right there in the home with us. The four of us, mom, Dick, myself and our younger brother Ken, managed the best we could for years. My mom would occasionally date but for the most part it was just us and she leaned heavily on Dick to fill in the role of male of the home. The alcohol became her drug of choice to mask the pain and we were all too able to cover for her. She was what would be considered today a functioning drunk - she still held down a job but as soon as she got home, all bets were off. She'd quietly imbibe until she'd literally pass out on the couch which would leave the three of us kids to fend for ourselves. Most days it wasn't too hard because Dick was home and he was able to make dinner. More and more often though, he had to work and that left it up to me. Cold cuts and sandwiches to the rescue on most nights and an occasional can of tomato soup. That was my culinary specialty. Oh and a killer egg salad. Dick was the master of tv dinners and chicken pot pies (neither of which I will have to this day).  He had become the man of the house and he did it all quite well. Too well. It was way too much responsibility to put on a 15 year old young man. Taking care of his mother, his sister and his brother. He was great at it. He made sure my mittens matched and were on the right hands, my socks and shoes matched and were laced to perfection, my winter coat buttoned up and a scarf tied to keep the cold wind out along with a hat on my head to keep the body heat from escaping. He made a great parent - especially for one who had been so let down and neglected by his own. Our dad was mean to him. I remember a lot of times Dick Sr. yelling at Dick and him running to his room in tears. Seems like the old man never had a kind word to say. He never told me but common sense would dictate that I don't think Dick was too upset when the old man hit the road.

Finally when my mom remarried, Dick saw an opening and took it. He joined the army and off he went. He had no clue of the hell he left behind for Ken and I to deal with. And true to family tradition, we never let on. We just continued on. In January 1971, our newly acquired stepdad decided committing suicide was preferable to finding a job and contributing to the family expenses. Dick did come home for the funeral but there was no need to bad mouth the deceased so we just kept mum. Mom convinced Dick that we'd be fine. She was a proud Norwegian woman after all and not about to let on that she had married not one, but two men that would be considered losers in today's books. So Dick went back to Germany and I continued taking on the parent role with Ken and then as my mom's health declined, with her as well.

I really understood then as much as I understand now why Dick would not want to come home to that environment. What I was counting on was that the good times that we had and the close bond that we shared would have been enough to draw him back and that together we could have worked it all out. After all, mom's drinking cut back all the way to non-existence as she got sicker. Dick never knew she had stopped drinking altogether almost two years before she died. He never realized that the tensions between our extended family seem to have an even deeper rift than ever before so there was no support system in place. The only support I had was from one lone teacher at school who became a father figure to me during my high school years and there was my youth group at church. My teacher, Mr. Harris, died my senior year just before Thanksgiving and only two months before mom died. I was devastated. By then, Dick had already been missing for a couple of years.

Our mom died not knowing what happened to her eldest boy. My dad spent years wondering what became of him as did my aunts, uncles and many other extended family members. It would always come up as people wondered what happened but nobody was willing to help me try and find him. Finally when my mom died I had to hire investigators to try and find him because he was written in the will. His social security number was run but came up with nothing. All that did was show that he hadn't worked in the United States nor filed any tax returns. Turns out he stayed in Germany 5 years so that answers that question. In 1988 I had his military records checked and found out he had never applied for or used any VA benefits. That was odd for a young man of 42 to have never used benefits. According to Dick, he worked for great companies with great benefits so the VA medical wasn't needed and he didn't use the VA benefit to buy a house until the 90's - long after the last time it was checked.

For years the Cook County Sheriff's Office has had all the information. They kept telling me they were coming up with nothing when in reality, after those first attempts, they never ran the numbers again or they'd have gotten a hit. I am still angry with them. They could have put an end to this many years ago but couldn't be bothered. Every few years there would be a new detective on the case and I'd give them the same info over and over again and they'd assure me they'd look into it, yet nothing was ever done. That is shameful. There are countless others who are waiting on answers, just like I had been all these years.

Since Friday, Dick and I have talked every day. He's spent countless hours pouring through the blogs I've been writing for the past few years. That has helped a lot. It's funny when I went to write them I argued heavily with God about it. Why on earth would He ask me to put my deepest thoughts and history down in writing when I couldn't even bring myself to journal or keep a diary? After all with two brothers, leaving any ammunition around for them to tease me about would have been a no brainer. Finally I relented and basically did it because I wanted to get in the habit and discipline of writing. They're all rough drafts. Not once have I ever gone back and edited. It wasn't about perfection it was about discipline for me. So there I was bearing my whole soul for the world to see. Now I can see how helpful those blogs are in this situation. Dick has been able to pore over them and absorb all the news he's missed over the last 40 years - at his own pace. That's freeing me up to deal with my own feelings after all these years. For the most part I really am alright. Better than alright.

I'll be blogging as I work out some of the details and keep you posted on how we progress from here. So far we've talked everyday and it's been amazing. In a matter of minutes, 40 years just evaporated and we fell into the easy conversations we used to have together all those years ago. We'll have our first face to face meeting this Saturday night. He's flying in Sat. night and then going back home Monday morning. Just a quick trip in to meet face to face. We're both excited. There's a bond between us that for whatever reason has not broken. Oh perhaps it was stretched a bit but like any good elastic product, it's retained it's shape and is working as good as new. I won't be meeting my new sister-in-law on this trip. She has a sister in the last stages of cancer and she needs to be with her. I certainly understand that. I'm looking forward to getting to know her too.

After reuniting with Dick, he, Janie, my son Dan, Oliver, etc. are determined to find our younger brother, Ken. His last know living arrangements were in Henderson, NV and they're trying to track him down. I have to admit, my curiosity is piqued but I spent 40 years looking for one brother - time to let someone else take the reins from here to find the other one. That would bring the family into contact and make us complete after a very, very long time.

As of now, my heart is full and complete. God's faithfulness has come through once again as only He can orchestrate it. My prayer has always been to find out the truth about Dick while I was still alive. That prayer has been answered. While I am in no hurry to kick the bucket anytime soon, at least I know when my time comes I can leave this world knowing I accomplished the one thing that I needed to get done before dying. I hope we have lots of time to catch up and form an even stronger bond. Either way, I'm grateful for the relationship I have now and anything more is just icing on the cake. I'm so very grateful I never gave up despite being told time and time again - many times by professional counselors - to let it go and move on. I just couldn't do it. I do give Oliver credit for never suggesting that to me. His only requirement was that I didn't let it make me lose sleep or cry myself to sleep because of it. Most times I honored that request.

I'm still dealing with feelings and thoughts that I have to come to terms with. It's been easier than I thought it would be but probably only because I've dealt with so many scenarios in my head all these years that nothing has come as a total surprise. My heart goes out to Dick. He's having to process 40 years of family history, deaths, situations, etc. in a matter of days - many of which have strong emotions attached to them. I'm sure he's dealing with a bit of guilt for having left us behind in the situation we were in - but that's unnecessary. He didn't know. For forty years I have kept extremely safe two pairs of slide rules (old mathematic items predating calculators) that were his and he had accused me of losing the last time we were together. It actually was Ken that hid them and I found them a couple of months later and have held on to them since. This weekend they will go into the right hands. : )

To show you the depths of what we've gone through all these years of not knowing, I still plan on blogging about all the different things we thought had happened to him. Some of them will not be for the faint of heart. Through it all I can honestly tell you that God was right there with me, holding my hand and asking me to trust Him - no matter what. I'm going to take you along on a little ride and show you just how much harder that can be to do than you can possibly imagine. In the meantime, grab someone you're close to and let them know that you love them - really love them - because none of us knows if it's the very last memory we'll have of that person. Have a good one and stay tuned...

In the Blink of an Eye

Have you ever felt sometimes you can say a prayer so many times and in so many ways that it fails to have any true meaning behind it? A prayer that becomes just rote words that you feel you have to say because, quite frankly, that's what you've always done? Any long term request can easily fall into that category. Yet every once in awhile a prayer has such special meaning that it holds as much of your heart many years later as it did the first time you dared to utter the words. I've had a prayer request that I have said so often that I don't have to think twice about the words. They flow easily off my tongue and out through the lips into the air with a piece of my heart - to be carried far, far away to a God who hopefully is tuned in to hear them. And I pray that on that day that those words be heard loud and clear and dare I say - answered.

In order to understand this particular special prayer request, I really need to explain to you a bit of the story behind it. That way you'll understand the motivation and heart that has fueled it for so long. Like most, not all, prayer requests, this one was birthed from pain. Not a particular physical pain but a deep down emotional pain that I just didn't understand at the time. My mother and father separated and divorced back when I was five years old. My prayers at that time were the usual, bring them back together. I never truly had that expectation because I didn't understand the reasons behind the two of them being apart. I said the words because that's what I thought I was supposed to say. As time went on, my prayers for my mother changed. They became about finding her a companion - a man, if you will. Not just any man, but a special one. Her prayer was the same so we thought we were on to something. In January 1967, a man did come into the picture and a scant month later, the two were married in a quiet ceremony in the chapel at the Methodist Church in town. It's funny how different prayers can tie together. Now that this prayer for my mom had been answered, it coincided with my older brother's prayer to move on with his own life and join the Army. A week later he was heading off to boot camp and the beginning of the rest of his life. My urgent prayers became ones to keep him safe and bring him home in one piece.

For four years they worked like a charm. He had a pretty easy assignment in Germany - far from the bullets flying in Viet Nam. Not that the assignment was without danger or intrigue but he didn't have to worry too much about the constant whizzing of artillery passing by his head. News of his every day life was scant at best. Our only means of communication was a piece of paper with familiar handwriting, folded in thirds and stuffed in a red, white and blue envelope with Por Avion printed on the front and a lot of stamps with varying sizes and illustrations. While the envelope itself was impressive it was what was inside that held the biggest prize for me. Nothing compared to the feeling of anticipation as I'd open the envelope and unfold the paper to see the handwriting in blue ink with the slight tilt to the left of a south paw. I'd read and hang on every word as if some magic meaning was buried in there for only me to figure it out.

That probably happened because in between those letters I spent a lot of time reading. I had become hooked on Nancy Drew mysteries and felt that those books were the manual to life. Of course Dick had to hide some message in those letters and I had to figure them out - I was sure of it. I'd pore over and hang on each word, period and comma. Most of the times the content was the same - "I'm fine" - "how are you?" - "write back". And I would. I'd tell him how our younger brother, Kenny, tried to feed the goldfish toast with jelly and it went belly up and no matter how much salt Mom sprinkled on his little body, he wasn't coming back to life. I'd fill him in on other mundane happenings from around the house and what was going on for me at school. Just little sister to her missed big brother chat. The letters really were few and far between. Each day I'd stand by the mailbox waiting for the mailman to come by and let me know if "today was the day". Most days, I'd turn and walk back to the house with nothing more than bills addressed to my mother. The next day I'd be at my post again with shorts, t-shirt and flip flops in the summer and a pea coat, scarf, gloves, hat and boots in the winter. Fall and Spring had their own special attire. Each day a McPrayer thrown up asking that today be the day that one of those special envelopes appeared in the pile. This continued for almost 5 years.

The last letter I received from him was at Christmastime in 1971. In that letter he had said that he was finally going to be coming home either the end of January or the beginning of February. My mother, Kenny and I were ecstatic. We readied his room for him and mom stocked up on his favorite foods. The freezer was full for the first time in I don't know how long. All awaiting the imminent arrival of our king. He had even told me, his little sister who idolized him, that he wanted to take me out to dinner for my 16th birthday on March 1st I envisioned going to one of the restaurants like the one he used to work at - The Brass Rail - where there were linen napkins and real, white, starched tablecloths. Coffee was served in porcelain cups and the cream came in the cutest little white pitchers. A place where the menu had items that you could barely pronounce made by chefs with accents that couldn't be distinguished. I imagined and we waited.

January 1972 was a cold one. We kept warm by sharing thoughts and ideas of what we'd do when Dick finally got home. I pulled out the Monopoly and Scrabble games and made sure all pieces were clean and accounted for. Dick and I had used to love to stay up late into the night playing those two board games. We'd laugh and talk and have such a good time until Mom would finally come in and shoo us off to bed. Those were some good times and the most cherished memories of my childhood. I could barely wait to get those feelings back.

By the time February came around, we began to get concerned. Every noise we'd hear outside we thought for sure was a cab door closing and that any moment he'd come waltzing through the door, duffel bag in hand, and ((hugs)) ready to pass around. We'd look out the window only to find one of the neighbors coming home from a late night out with friends. No Dick. Though Mom tried to hide it, her concern became more noticeable. Where was her precious older son? It was not like him to say he would be somewhere and then not show up. By the time my birthday rolled around on March 1st, Mom was in the hospital and we both shared a glance that only we could interpret - something was wrong. I didn't get to go out to the fancy dinner with my brother as planned but I had a nice one all the same. One of our youth group leaders at church made a wonderful sheet cake and brought it to our youth meeting that night and made me feel special. My mom had bought the cutest little red, white and blue culotte outfit (hey, it was a stylin' piece at the time) for me off the traveling gift cart at the hospital. I felt like a princess. Unconventional sixteenth birthday party? Yes, but it's a day I'll never forget. Happy and sad all mixed in together - not for the first time in my life and certainly not for the last. By mid March we had written several letters to the last known address we had for him and they all went unanswered. Mom decided it was time to call the police, although not really believing that they could or would do anything. She was right, they neither could nor would. They rationalized that he was a 25 year old who had been gone, out of the country, for five years. He probably just didn't want to come home. But why wouldn't he let us know that? That was the question that started the pain. We'd understand. We'd be hurt, no doubt, but we'd understand.

Wondering what happened to Dick played heavy on my mom's health. My prayers for my mother now focused on her health. Her heart was broken both physically and emotionally. They had been very close as had Dick and I. Oh they'd had their falling outs through the years but Dick was very protective of her and she was so proud of the young man he had become. Surely he wouldn't knowingly put her through such pain without so much as a word. We tried contacting the army but since he had been discharged, they couldn't help. I personally contacted the American Embassy and German Counselate in Germany to no avail. No police department in the states would help because, quite frankly, we couldn't prove he'd ever come home from Germany. It was brick wall after brick wall. As my mom's health deteriorated, I tried even harder to get someone, anyone, to help me try and locate him. Nobody would answer the neurotic rantings of a lunatic teenager and her ailing mom. Kenny just concentrated on his school work and really didn't seem to care one way or another. He had that Buchanan male gene of indifference that had been passed down through the generations. We somehow thought that it had skipped Dick because he was the concerned, compassionate one of the males in the bloodline - a bone of contention between him and the patriarch of our family - our dad.

I continued studying in school and working at Goldblatt's department store to help make ends meet. Since mom was so sick and she had been denied disability, the burden of having to make sure the electric stayed on fell squarely on my shoulders, as well as her every day emotional, physical and medical needs. I spun many plates and wore many hats and handled it all quite well. My grades fell from A's to B's but not bad considering how busy I was and how little time I had to think about homework let alone do any. This pace continued until the light at the proverbial end of the tunnel drew closer - graduation day. My mom was exceptionally ill that week and my urgent prayers included making sure she lived until my graduation day. That was important to her - that I graduate. On that Sunday night, a few days before graduation, she had been taken to the ER by ambulance and sent back home a few hours later saying there was nothing they could do. On Thursday I got up and headed out to graduation practice. It was my graduation day - a cold, yet sunny, end of January day. I kissed her good-bye and headed to the door. Just before walking out, I turned and told her I loved her and she said the same back to me. Out the door I went and gently closed the door so as not to shake the house. A few hours later I came back from graduation practice to find my mom had peacefully headed out of this world and on to the next phase of her journey. A quick call to the paramedics and a confirmation from them that she had indeed died, a trip to the hospital to fill out paperwork and then back home to break the news to Ken when he came home from school - all the while trying to calm an hysterical aunt who couldn't believe her baby sister was gone. Despite the busy day, I did go to graduation that night, but truthfully don't remember a lot of the details. I do know I got my diploma and that I had graduated from much more than high school that day.

For the next year and half, we had investigators trying to find Dick. Every turn and every lead came up empty. Finally with the cash reserve being exhausted and the house being stuck in limbo because we couldn't sell it without his signature, we had to call off the blood hounds, no closer to finding Dick than I had been when I had tried on my own. Oh they found plenty of Dick Buchanan's who came sniffing around trying to get a piece of an inheritance but none of them could answer basic questions that my true brother would know the answer to. I felt so alone.

For years I had kept saying the same prayer - Where is Dick and wherever he is, if he is still alive and not with you, please keep him safe and bring him home to us. The words might have changed through the years but the heart felt sentiment was always the same. For over forty years, EVERY prayer I dared to utter ended with that simple request. For the past few years, especially after being diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis, I added that I would like to know while I was still alive but I had also come to accept the fact that I might not have my answers in this lifetime.

Over the next several days, I'll be blogging on all the scenarios and possibilities that we tossed around through the years as to what might have happened. It wasn't always the highlighted topic of discussion but it pretty much came up anytime any of our extended family crossed paths. I was constantly asked if I ever heard anything from Dick. I would just smile and say "no" while trying to keep my stomach from tying itself in yet another knot.

Forty years - a long time. The Israelites wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. I can relate. If I were to ask Oliver, he'd have it all broken down into how many hours and minutes forty years would add up to. He's good at numbers like that. I just know it is a long time of wondering, waiting, arguing with God about, and resigning myself to the fact that I might never, ever know and finding some peace with no answer being an answer.

Then in the blink of an eye, it all changed. A simple email and a picture on a website was all it took for 40 years to just condense into the time equivalent of one day. After all these years, a private investigator, who happens to be the cousin of a friend I went to high school with, took pity on my story and agreed to try and help me out. Within 24 hours he accomplished what countless other investigators couldn't for years - he tracked down Dick and gave him a call. He told Dick I was looking for him and gave him my email, phone number, address, etc and then left the ball in his court. Dick did not hold the ball long before sending off a quick email letting me know he was alive and well. The next blog I'll tell you all about how that felt.

For this one, I want to emphasize how important it is to never give up on hope or your dreams or your prayers. Forty years - an extraordinarily long time to hold on to the same prayer request but oh so fulfilling when the answer finally comes through. My simple, heartfelt forty year old prayer request was not only heard by God but literally answered in the blink of an eye. How cool is that? God Bless...