Thinking about my brother today.

Back to work Tuesday, and I bid you a hearty hello on this day, September 3, 2019. Today I pause to remember my brother, Donald Richard Abbott who would have celebrated his 71st birthday today. We lost Donald 8 years ago at age 62, after a ten-month battle where he struggled to recover from a massive heart attack and traumatic brain injury. Donald was as unique as they come and he seemed always to run on his own set of rails. He was generally a free spirit who made friends easily and pretty much did his own thing, in his own way. As careers go, his 20-year stint as a U. S. Marine reflected a huge part of his life. When he enlisted it was as if he was born to be a Marine. His dream job was that of a Drill Instructor which he did for nearly 12 years. When he hurt his back and was no longer able to be a DI, it was a huge blow to him. Nearly everyday we read about those who wear the uniform of our nation with many of them being killed or wounded. I almost always think about men like Donald who poured into his recruits the fighting spirit and instinct required to survive the worst in battle. Every time I've met a Marine and they learn about my brother being a DI they give him and others like him credit for the training that was given to them. When Donald retired he worked in a number of different industries but he never lost his connection to the Corp. While we continue to mourn his loss, we are also proud of his service to our country. He was a dad, a skilled employee, a beloved son, and many other things, but the bottom line was his identity as a United States Marine. Happy Birthday, Brother and may God bless our memory of your time here with us. Amen.

After dad passed away in 1954, we moved to a little hamlet of a town, Hornbeck, Louisiana, and lived with mom's parents, Granny and Paw Paw McMillan. I was nearly 8 and Donald was 6 when we made that transition. They fixed up a bedroom where our older brother, Jimmy Don, 12, slept in a single bed, and Donald and I shared a double bed. We lived with Granny and Paw Paw until our house was built and we moved into it in 1957. Donald fell in love with the outdoors and he seemed always to have a dog to tag along with him. At an early age, he would walk down to Brushy Creek and fish for sun perch and Lobo his jet black puppy would go with him. In the summertime, he would walk there barefooted because most of us went barefooted. I know from experience there were plenty of snakes on that old creek, but, they didn't deter him one bit. Most of us fell in line when it came to attending Church services. Not Donald. He just didn't care to go. Often mom would have to, literally, drag him down the road and up the hill to our Church property. He would get there, but, at the first chance, he would slip away. When we were little, mom would dress us up for Church. As soon as we got a little older, Donald rejected any and all dress-up clothes and mom finally was worn down, allowing him to wear his jeans and whatever shirt he could grab. His dog used to walk with him to the school. Later, in the afternoon, the school would be let out, and there sat Lobo, waiting on Donald. He joined the Marines straight out of high school. I think mom had to sign for him. He finished his training and was sent to Okinawa. I used to write him long letters, mostly preaching to him about his need of the Lord and things like that. He seemed to enjoy being different, a non-conformist, and, perhaps even a little smidgen of renegade thrown in for good measure. He used to love to tell stories on the high and mighty Church folks. You know, stuff about how they really lived their lives. Mom would beg him not to talk like that, however, the stories were pretty much true.

Donald struggled with alcoholism during much of his life. I remember when I was head over hills into ancestry research, I got an email from a lady who had been looking at our family for years. Her note read: "Here is a warning. Based on my research, the men on your dad's side have two issues that cause many of them to die young, alcohol and heart trouble." Donald and I were never really close, but, I did spend a lot of time with him before he died. He told me he was ready to go. He said his faith was in Jesus. That means I will see him again. I was privileged to conduct his funeral service. Our dad leaving us so early for his reward left a huge void for mom and the six of us kids. We all had to deal with this tragic circumstance in our own way. Each child. Listen, our family would win the 'what ifs' game against most other contestants. But, that event, along with all that happened, as a result, presented us with conditions that helped to shape us into who we became. I have no idea how we all turned out like we did, but, God knows and He loved us all, and He still does, anyway. This I know to be true because the Bible tells me so. Donald's life was lived through the prism of his service to our country. He was a part of that family who served and nearly everywhere he went and everywhere he lived that was the one accolade no one could question or take away from him. I suppose the term 'rugged individualism' would apply to Donald's life. I still remember how as kids in that super cold room he wanted to snuggle with me because he was so cold. Sometimes I would and sometimes I wouldn't. That's how we rolled back in the day. I do hope everyone will have a good Tuesday and that we all will look at our lives and see how blessed we are to know the Lord. Amen. ...More later.