How I lost my brother in Korea. #1

by Mary Fahey 

When I returned home that cold November night, I heard my mother’s wails push their way through the closed door.  I put my key into the lock and hesitated. I didn't want to hear what terrible news brought about such desperate sobs. Suddenly, the door  flung open. Our neighbor Betty stood on the threshold. She looked stricken. 

           “What happened?” I whispered. 

            Betty thrust the telegram into my hand. Frightened, I scanned the page. Words popped out at me in fragments. “Notify you... your son Andrew Thomas Fahey... missing in action.” My eyes darted back and forth across the paper like a tennis ball, Andrew Fahey... missing in action, Andrew... missing.  My mind did not fully understand. Don’t they usually say “regret to inform you?” There’s no regret in this telegram. Doesn’t that mean it’s not so bad?  If it was really bad, it would say “regret to inform.” I looked for any small evidence of hope; my denial so strong for what I didn’t want to accept. My face crumbled like the paper in my fist.

            When I think of the people who most influenced my young life, my brother Andy looms large in my mind. I grew up in a big extended family with siblings and numerous cousins all of whom were 6 to 12 years older. Most didn’t want the “spoiled brat” around and shooed me away from their games. Not my brother. Although eight years my senior, Andy treated me as an equal. From an early age, I tagged after him hoping he'd include me in his games. A family story tells of the time when I was two or three years of age. Andy tied me to the back of a dining room chair, stuck a lemon in my mouth and secured it with a cloth.  My mother found us, interrupted our game of cowboys and Indians and scolded Andy as she removed my gag.  

            “No! Put it back,” I protested. “I want to play.”

            I was willing to put up with the discomfort of being bound and gagged to be accepted in the game.

 1938 Dottie, Mom,

me (Mary) & Andy

By age six, I became his sidekick. In the winter, he and his buddies built opposing snow forts to wage war. I sat on the ground sheltered by the wall of solid snow and made ammunition for my brother. He taught me how to embed a pebble or lump of ice in the center of carefully hand packed snow to make a more solid weapon.

            Andy loved classical music and frequently tuned it in on the radio. The rest of the family groaned “Not that long hair music again.” He sat me down to listen and told me about the composer and what the music represents. He encouraged me to visualize images of what the music makes me think of and how it makes me feel. He took me to see the animated classical music film, ‘Fantasia.’ I remember being disappointed because for a Disney movie, it had no story line. I expected something along the lines of ‘Snow White’ or ‘Pinocchio’ yet the images and music of that film stay with me still. My love of classical music comes from my brother’s influence.

  ....to be continued