It’s been quite a while since I took pen to paper. Fingers to keyboard is more apt, but doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it? At any rate, I’ve been in a reflective mood lately. There is much going on in my husband’s family right now concerning his mother who just turned ninety-five. It’s a very emotional time. And, as with any emotional time, old emotional memories come flooding back. Tomorrow is the 55th anniversary of the day we lost my brother, Tim, in Viet Nam. And as I am going gray (not that one would notice, thanks to Ms. Clairol) and moving into these delightfully decrepit years, I can’t help but wonder what Timmy would look like now. He’d be seventy-five, if my basic arithmetic hasn’t failed me. Would he have gray hair, too, or be going a little bald like my father. Would he be a little paunchy?  Would his smile be the same? Would he be silly and funny and charming still? I like to think so. Would he be a published poet or, perhaps, a philosophy professor? Questions I’ll sadly never know the answers to. But my memories are of him the way he was are lovely. Tall and handsome. Vulnerable and child-like in many ways. Always a friend to anyone who needed one. And the best brother a girl could have. So, I think I’ll put the questions that can’t be answered aside and just remember the beautiful boy he was. Fifty-five years are not enough to forget him. He is still in my heart always. Dear Timmy, you will always be missed.