You Can't Take It With You&;#063;

Since he was a babe of only two years old, he struggled with every
breath he took. Asthma they said it was. They also told us he'd never
reach the age of thirty, due to the amount of steroids he needed daily
to save his life. They would, one day, take a toll on his vital organs.
He was only twelve when he topped my height of 5'9', and he kept right
on growing until he'd reached well over six feet tall.

He lived in a trailer court that was over-run with drug traffickers. In
his little home we could hear the neighbors cough and converse; there
being little or no privacy and everything that went on could be heard
throughout the entire place. My brother was not one to allow violence
of any kind to go on in his presence, and whenever he heard voices
rise, he was outside looking for the trouble. He would burst right into
someone's trailer, if he deemed abuse was going on inside. The presence
of his sheer size alone made even the most violent offenders stand
back. He always seemed to show up and save someone just in the nick of
time, and it didn't take long for the other residents of the court to
nick-name him "God".

Knowledge of his impending death never left him, as it was in every
breath he took. He'd become a Mormon priest, young for such a feat, and
the only reason his ill-hearted neighbors put up with the constant
calling of the missionaries was because they were "God's" friends.
Otherwise, they may have beat them up.

He spent his money on things he enjoyed; games and gadgets, and all the
material things his church taught him that he didn't really need. But,
who was going to say anything? His favorite excuse was, "I know they
say you can't take it with you. But what if you get up there and wake
to find the guy next to you has all his stuff? You won't be 'in the
loop'!" His deep, throaty laugh was infectious.

His over-grown heart finally did give out as he was getting ready to
take a bath one morning. I should have been there to clean his house,
as usual, but that day something came up. I still kick myself for not
going until the afternoon; I might have been able to save his life,
even though I don't know if it would have been right. I would have
tried, anyway. I found it very hard to let go, even though I knew he
was nearby, watching me. I brought a black leather satchel to the
funeral.

After the services I brought out the contents of the satchel; his
cell-phone, his mug showing a drawing of a beaver that said "I Love
You, Dam It" (he'd received it as the result of a personal joke), some
photos, his Nintendo joystick and favorite game, and other small items.
I lovingly placed them around him, careful not to disturb anyone else
as I did it. My aunt caught me, and in her grief she began yelling at
me. "What are you doing? You're littering his casket," among other
unwarranted accusations. "Where he's going he won't need those!"

I waited until she'd gotten it all out of her system, politely taking
the verbal abuse she inflicted as a result of her own terrible pain.
Then I said quietly, "But Auntie, what if he gets there and the guy
next to him has all his stuff? Shawn won't be 'in the loop'." My aunt
looked shocked.

"What do you mean, what if the guy next to him has all his stuff? He
doesn't need to be in a 'loop' now! You can't take it with you, don't
you know that?" she continued ranting.

"How do YOU know?" came my mother's stern voice from behind me.
Surprised, I turned to see her looking her sister square in the eye. "I
mean, HOW do you know? Do you know better than "God" himself?" Mom
actually had a little grin going when she said this. My aunt had no
response; completely dumb-founded. She stood there searching for words,
but found none and just walked away.

Before it was time to head for the cemetery, I just had to have one
more look at the big face I wouldn't see again for some time. I just
didn't want to let go. I stood there blinded by my own tears, and said
a little prayer asking Spirit to let him visit me, perhaps in a dream.
I wiped at my eyes to look at him just once more, and that's when I saw
it; a small, wallet-sized photograph of my aunt and her children tucked
neatly into Shawn's hand.