I had a strong drink, and I'm gonna drink some more.
This one is different.
He was a hunter, he was good at it.
He was other things as well, but he loved to hunt.
He loved life, his woman, her children, his family.
My brother, Tommy, (oops, sorry bro, I mean TOM!)
My little brother.
It hurts, so I try not to think about it.
I was supposed to hunt this year, bag an elk in celebration of his life.
I'm stupid hurt drunk instead.
He wanted me to be proud of him.
I am.
He wanted to hunt with me.
I hunt alone, he knows that.
He had a family, and I know better than to apprentice someone who is hooked up.
Tom looked at me as a big brother, though he was larger than life to me.
Tom enjoyed those aspects of life that I cannot, that home life, kids, steady job, etc.
I recall a night when I was bouncing at a bar, there were two of them, and they were being obnoxious. I watched as one of them picked up his beer bottle and I steadied myself for the clashing violence to come. Then a calming, largeness appeared behind me. I recall seeing the look on his face as he watched the two decide that the odds were against them. Primal, eager and very aware. It was soooo cool.
I remember days long past when he was confused, scared and so determined to be the answer. He had visions, of being told that he was the way. Scary.
My little brother, watching me as I left through the second story window, wanting to follow, knowing he could not.
Now I must follow him. I don't think I can live up to his view of me, but I know that he surpassed my view of him.
Tom, on the night of the acid trip, the morning after, he called in and told them he was in Spokane, would not be at work, then hours later, he woke, and called in and told them he was ill.
I sat listening to him, with disbelief, as he listened to them. Oh well, he was lookin for a job when he found that one, LOL.
His woman sent me a video email with him citing his last wishes long before he died. I have never seen it. I'm not certain that I even have a recent pic of him. I'm not sad.
He wanted to live the way he did, and tho I'm certain he did not want to die, he was happy watching the elk as he did.
May your trail lead you to fulfilled adventure my brother.

At his memorial, I wandered outside, down to the field overlooking the Okanogan River, as I stood watching the morning mists I watched as 2 eagles flew downriver.
One immature, one older, both bald eagles. I cried then. From my heart. My spirit drowned in feelings that I never wanted to feel.

Tom filled his own footsteps, and in the scheme of his life that was enough.

Now I go forward, to my own certain future.

The hunter stands silent in the forest of dreams, his brow darkening with the sights of his destiny. The trees whisper. The forest stirs in the morning, scents of the quick rise in the sunlight. Decaying in age, the floor is renewed.

Good night little brother.