A Memorial for My Brother, Richard Ladue

A memorial service for my brother, Richard/Dick/Joe Ladue was held Thursday, August 6, 2015 at the family plot in Redford, NY.  In attendance were four of us....Steve Graf, Vicki Maggy, Catherine Van Nortwick and myself.  I am so grateful for their witness to this remembrance.

This was not a funeral.  It was a means of burying my anger at how things were done surrounding his death, at his great act of betrayal at the end of his life, his wife's co-dependent hostility and at a life time of alcoholic and drug abuse that affected his family in very deep ways.

Now, when all these hurts come up, I can say...they are in the small tin box that was buried above the graves of our grandparents and between the graves of his parents.

At this point, I can sincerely say ... Rest in Peace.

He's a Long Way from Home

He rarely called.

He rarely came.

I waited.
I held out hope for some sort of amends,
A reconciliation.
Gathering my strength I purposely detached.
I was carried
Off into a new and better place.
Far away from his presence
Cold and bitterness hardened him.
I saw time flicker away.
I lived years without him
Alone then and now.
I pitied him.
As I traveled far from him
He did not know how really close we were.
I often peered from my tiny window
Praying that he would sense my longing.
I knocked ever so softly just testing
To see if he would open up to me.
If he could have somehow found his way back
I would have gladly received him
But he was blind
And his days were in denial.
I would have flown by his side
And I would have rescued him.
If only...
If only he knew.
He rarely called.
He rarely came.
I waited.

Freely adapted from a poem by Paula Nico from Healing Poems for Broken Hearts

--------------------

An Abbreviated Life

In the early days of Campus School,

of Little League, of neighborhood

games of tag, of innocence, you shone.

Your friends flocked to be with you,

girls swooned, hoping for a chance

to set eyes on you at the Y dances on Friday nights.

A football hero, a wrestler, a charismatic golden boy,

you discovered that you were good with your hands.

A mason who abandoned the North Country

to work on the Alaskan pipeline in the 80's.

You grew a beard, made friends that none of us knew,

married a woman we never met, returned home

for our 30^th high school reunion, a foreigner.

You lost your sunshine, your innocence,

your reasons to connect to your earlier life.

Your brother became good friends with anger,

disappointment and grief He tried to built bridges,

shorten the geographic distance between you.

In the end the emotional distance was too great.

By then, you were gone, leaving us wanting answers.

Michaela Armstrong                                                                                                          May 2015                                                                                                                                                 --------------------

The Uses of Sorrow

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

Mary Oliver, from Thirst, by Beacon Press, Boston, 2006                                                    --------------------

Oh Lord, I circle Dick with your love. Keep him with you at all times and guide him to where you wish, Help me not to be judgmental and help me change my thoughts towards him. Thank you for your love and all that you have given me. Amen.

Prayed by our mother, Rita Ladue, daily.