childhood continues {a sad text}

If blogs are meant to be a mental keepsake, than this post is Grade A material.
Snatched from the archives of my most aged and distant memories and yet, brought to life, each holiday season.


It never mattered our age, friendship status or stage in life, one thing was for certain...

When the holidays rolled around and Christmas music started playing, {earlier and earlier each passing year} I was certainly going to get a call from my brother.
Long before texting was the accceptable transport for words and ideas, it was a phone call.
As soon as his name would pop up, "Brother", I knew.

"Rachel.  Hey. Turn it on 103.5."

We could have not talked for weeks but the call was inevitable and constant.
I think there may have even been one year we weren't speaking {because that's very functional and mature} but the call still came.  With a swift hang up, but it came, nonetheless.
The call was every year, without fail.

The call alerting me that Andy Williams was on the radio.
The season had begun.
Christmas was here and my brother didn't forget.

"It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" was and is a harbinger of Christmas, for my brother.
Like a airborne delivered telegram, signaling the coming of something special, awkward, happy, joyful {depending on how you enjoy your holiday}.
Who knows why a child clings to certain songs, memories or physical objects, but my brother picked Andy.

So yes, I was a little sad when I got another text this morning, from my brother. He was letting me know Andy Williams had passed away.
Of course I called him immediately and he laughed at me for calling. What else would a brother do?

But I don't care.
It's a good memory, covered in corny.

After I called him, I made the girls breakfast and looked at them while they shoved waffles down their throats and I said a silent prayer.
I asked the good Lord to please let my children be friends in 30 years, like Jonathan and I.  Please let them text {or by then, send a message in a forward moving time machine} to each other, about a stupid Christmas song. Please, please, let them love each other as much as I love my brother.

Here's to you Andy.  And here's to you, brother.


  1. I'm crying, My brother is and always has been more of a friend then a brother. I want my kids to be the same way, boy and girl they are close now at 5 and 7 I do pray it grows and they are like him and I are now. Thank you for sharing:)

    1. Isn't a relationship with a sibling, amazing?,

  2. You and I often seem to be on the same wavelength, Rachel, and this time, I think I'm on the same one as your bro, too. Andy = beautiful memories of being in my grandfather's living room and feeling comforted by his presence and Andy crooning "Moon River" on the record player. It makes me sad that many of the great ones have passed on.

    Thank God for vinyl, ah, I mean digital.