Saturday, 2 March 2013

David; Brother of My Heart


There is the family we are born into; we really have no choice and if we are blessed, we get to call some amazing folks, mother-father-sister-brother.
Others, are born from the heart. That HaShem knits our souls together with those who become family by choice.
Such is the case with David Walton and I.
Someone once asked my mother if she was sure David and I weren't separated at birth. Mother said she was pretty sure we weren't, but there were moments even she wasn't sure.
For as mother herself would point out: 'when you saw David, you saw Elayne. And when you saw Elayne, David wasn't far behind."
No, there was never anything more than a deep friendship. I remember someone asking David if we were dating and he screwed up his nose and and said; "that would be like dating my sister."
It just wasn't something that occurred to either of us.
Our bond was more than faith, a love of the bible, singing, music, history or books. It went deeper than that.
For David and I understood each other.
While I could never get him to go for treatment, I knew he was bipolar. Having the disorder, I knew the signs well. When we were growing up, teens like David and I were label "difficult and moody." Today we know that a moody child or teenager is suffering from form of depression. The treatment is now there to help teens and their families.
It really wasn't there for people like David and I.
Often, we could talk about things that others would think odd or strange. We both would escape a world that didn't know what to think or make of us, through music, the stories in our head or through the world of books.
 In reading, we found people and beings like us, people that accepted us just as we were and did not demand we change and conform to what they thought we should be. The problem with such a love of books, of reading, is that it can become an addiction, a way of escape and not dealing with our problems, with our lives.
Like many, David told me he came from a family where the expression of love didn't come easy. Which is why it was hard for him to say I love you.
But he had his own way of telling you.
I have a small librany of books that David gave me, books he knew I would be interested in reading. Or he would have me a brown paper bag with a CD of jewish music. That was his way of saying, "I love you, Elayne."
Last Sunday was the first Sunday I had been to KPC since David's memorial. The choir sang and of course I looked for his face, forgetting he wasn't there. I half expected him to come over and give me a hug, then remembered there was no hug coming.
David is now at peace and I am still missing him.

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