The Cubbies and my brother Kenny

My brother was a diehard Cubs fan his whole life. And since I was always a “me too” kind of a sister, so am I. I had to cheer for the Cubs even when they were playing my home team, the Dodgers, in the National League playoffs this year. My Cubs and Chicago roots took over. But always on my mind during this winning Cubs season was my wish my brother were still alive to experience it. He would have been ecstatic. He never gave up on them and neither did I. One year for his birthday we sent him a replica of the Wrigley Field sign. My brother and I used to take the El train to Wrigley Field to see the Cubs play many afternoons, so he loved the sign and the reminder of his go-to place as a boy. I was ecstatic when his Cubbies came back from one to three to tie up the series three all and force a seventh game. And I was ecstatic when his Cubbies won the 2016 baseball World Series EIGHT to SEVEN against the Cleveland Indians on Wednesday night. Who knows? Maybe they’ll do it agai … [Read more...]

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Happy Birthday, Kenny

My brother, Kenny, would have been seventy-seven today. I miss him always. He was the guy I grew up with. Here are a couple of photos: one taken near the beginning of his life when he was three, the other taken near the end with yours truly.   He will always be in my heart. … [Read more...]

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Happy Birthday, Bro

Today would have been my brother’s 74th birthday. I’ve told so many people lately about how close siblings are and that a loss of a sibling – the people we grow up with – is one of the hardest of all. I won’t say it was as hard as Paul’s death on me, but it certainly came close. I still get so angry thinking that he paid good money to make himself sick from cigarettes. Even though he was cured of lung cancer, his last years as he slowly faded away from radiation damage - the treatment that cured him - were like a nightmare for all of us. Ken in 2006. He died in 2008 Here's a poem I wrote about him that was read at his memorial service. Brotherly Love He made me walk across the street away from him and his friends to avoid me, his little sister, on our way to school. He’d rub my arm until it burned whenever he could take hold, and flicked me with a dish towel when it was his turn to dry the dishes. He called me fatso, He called me Madeldini He shut the door of his … [Read more...]

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