Ronnie

 

My brother, Ron Wills, died from Pulmonary Fibroses Chronic Lung Disease shortly after his 84th birthday. This is not a disease that sneaks up on anyone as the dying can be a slow process of decline over years. Rather than falling into morbid self pity, Ron prepared for death as purely and consciously as possible. He went about connecting with everyone who meant something to him and making sure they knew how much he appreciated and cared about the friendship. He didn't ignore the "difficult" people either, but connected with them too in order to take responsibility for at least part of whatever was difficult between them in a sincere effort to mend the fences. 

Ours is a family of six siblings. We evolved to be a very tight knit unit of care and support for each other both through sibling reunions and later with regular Zoom visits. Ron died on a Tuesday; the siblings met on the preceding Saturday and Sunday to say a long good-bye. Ron died without fear and with as much grace as is humanly possible. 

Born just seventeen months apart, my brother Ron and I were a childhood playgroup of two. But he was called Ronnie then and one of my very deepest bonds is with that boy.  Ronnie was an impressively large presence, seemingly fearless, outgoing and always in motion, and was most comfortable being "in charge". As the other member of the playgroup, I was younger, much smaller and shy. He led; I followed.

Ronnie was not meant to be raised in a house and always wanted to be outdoors. When we played inside, we often fought; we were far more in harmony out of doors. We climbed trees, walked the creek, played in the barn and rode horses together. The horses were entirely his idea. At age twelve, with money he earned from a paper route, he bought his first horse. Flame was a Tennessee Walker, a huge horse, and Ronnie had little prior experience. Completely undaunted, Ronnie was not just learning to ride but was in command from the beginning.

We rode double for awhile, but at some point, Ronnie bought a horse for me so that I could follow along with the troop of kids he rode with. My horse, Princess, was smaller but meaner. I didn't learn to ride so much as I trailed after the other horses while Princess tried to scrape me off by dodging under low hanging branches. I depended on agility more than horsemanship.

It's probably a distorted memory, but Ronnie looked perpetually banged-up as a boy, usually causing his own injuries by doing insanely dangerous things. He seemed to either jump or fall off of something with frightening regularity. Sometimes I was only a half beat behind him, but moving far more carefully.

Before chic Gymboree play clothes were invented.

When forced to be inside a house, Ronnie liked to play cards and board games, and insisted that I play if he couldn't find another mark. He always won. Maybe he cheated, maybe I'm just that bad at games, or maybe he's just that good. He did take up serious poker playing for awhile as an adult, apparently with some real talent for it. I don't doubt he was good at bluffing. Ronnie and I also shared a paper route when we were kids. I made precise and careful lists of our costs, outstanding payments, and net profit. He had a much more cavalier approach which seemed to work just as well. He bought the candy and pop right up front, and assumed the profit would show up at some point.

Growing up, my brother was a master of half truths; like a really expensive trial lawyer. It came so naturally to him, I'm not even sure it was entirely calculated. Maybe he honestly couldn't remember anything that might reflect badly on his recent behavior. As he could be reckless, impulsive, and not quite trustworthy, I was the reliable child who could get him home in one piece or at least go for help.

My adult brother, Ron, evolved to be a completely honest, reliable, and trustworthy person. I still marvel. 

Siblings in birth order: Dina, Barry, Rita, Ron, Vandana, Farrell