March 6, 2004

By Mary

Eight years ago on the sixth of March I received a call I will never forget. My parents were away in Chicago for the weekend, which meant it was my responsibility to keep an eye on my five younger siblings and the house. As a high school senior (home-schooled)  I was old enough for these responsibilities. Regardless of my age or maturity though, the call I answered from Robert was something I was not, and never stall be, able to handle.

Robert’s voice sounded different than I had ever heard it sound before. Hearing my big brave brother’s voice hinting at panic terrified me, so I kept repeating over and over “Tell me everything’s fine”. However, the reassurance I demanded in my hysterical begging was something that was impossible to give.

The month of March brings forth life and also takes it. Tomorrow’s posting is solely dedicated to Dominic, the sixth brother in my life, whose cigarettes I used to poke with pins as a child, and whose room and laundry I’d clean as a teenager. Whose loyalty and companionship I used to value so much, whether it be while catching a skittish mare of mine, riding around in his old, red Fire-Bird, or just keeping quiet company while watching movies or reading books.

This wheaten-haired inherited brother to the Slattery family departed one sunny March afternoon after the canoe he and Robert were in sprung a leak. Read tomorrow’s posting by Kate, as we remember his life and the times we shared.

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