Three Little Wrestling Figures

I shared this story before but I wanted to again on what should’ve been my brother’s 46th birthday. 

If you knew Dave, you knew he had a lifelong struggle. There were stretches of time throughout that struggle when he would go weeks, months, or sometimes years, doing okay. Then there were other stretches of time when he suffered terribly. This photo was taken during one of those times.

His girlfriend at the time had kicked him out, so, Jamie turned our office into a makeshift bedroom and we took him in. Every night before her bedtime, Nina tiptoed across the hallway in her pajamas and crawled under the covers with him. I’d hear whispers about princesses and dragons and how Dave was going to help her conquer her fear of rollercoasters. She set up a couple of my wrestling figures near him (you could see them in the photo, on the nightstand) and explained that one day soon “Uncle Dave would be strong like them again.”

He was in pain. Not only the kind of pain that comes with addiction but very serious physical pain. An injury to his foot had become infected and at this point he had a portable wound VAC treating it. 

After a few days at our house, Dave insisted on packing up his stuff and moving back with his girlfriend. In the weeks that followed, the wound in his foot worsened and he found himself in a rehabilitation center. He and I would end up having a falling out (our last of many) and I swore I would never speak to him again. 

Nina missed her uncle and wanted nothing more than to bring him the wrestling figures he forgot on the nightstand. On a warm day in April, I reluctantly took her to see him. We were only there for about thirty minutes but Dave was his old self. He had the nursing staff and other residents laughing. He had Nina laughing. Before it was over, he had me laughing. We left the rehab with smiles on our faces that afternoon. Dave never would. He passed away there three days later.

I share this photo and story to honor Dave and show that even at his worst he mustered up enough strength to chat about tree frogs with his three year old niece. Underneath it all, that’s who he was.

I have no idea what his final moments were like at that rehabilitation center seven years ago. I never will. But, I take a tiny bit of solace knowing that when it happened, he had three little wrestling figures at his bedside. 

Happy birthday, my brother. Until we meet again.