The picture I post here was one of the saddest days in my life: the day my big brother Dale left my little 4-1/2 year old life. At that young age, and a 14-year age difference, I had no idea what was really going to happen and how his choice would open my eyes to the world beyond our little hometown. My memories are little nuggets sprinkled throughout my life. Unfortunately for me, the most time we would have spent together I was too young to remember.

The exotic (to me) places Dale traveled had me racing to my Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedia set when I learned of his current locale, and when he brought home wonderful gifts such as the ethnic dolls of Malta, Greece, Spain (my favorite), Scotland, and Hawaii - including a “grass” skirt costume which I wore to hula my heart out to a Don Ho album he bought me.

Dale was responsible for my earning some serious playground and high school cred by exposing me to the following firsts:

- long road trips and staying in hotels/motels traveling to barely developed Key West and Charleston

- at 9 years old boarding the Vallejo anchored off the Naval Academy on Mother’s Day 1970.

- at 16, My first plane ride from Baltimore with Dale, Anne, and baby Ashleigh in 1977 for a summer in San Diego which included:

---my first international border crossing into Tijuana as well as eating tacos for the first time; water-skiing (unsuccessfully) behind a Zodiac in Mission Bay; the San Diego Zoo and Balboa Park, swanky La Jolla, and many other excursions. (Kudos and never-ending love to Anne for hosting a teenager for 6 weeks.)

My memories of our handwritten correspondence in 60's and 70's are that Dale shared his experiences in multiple-page responses, answered his little sister’s questions, gave wise counsel for coping with the usual childhood complaints of strict parents, school friendships, or trying to figure out what to do with my life. Dale sent reel-to-reel audiotapes; I’d treasure every word and sound from the sub and imagine what he was doing at that moment in time. His patience trusting me and teaching me how to operate the Panasonic tape player he purchased for us made me feel capable and tech-savvy: I mean, no one else in my elementary school class could do that.

Time accelerated: Dale transferred, and his family grew (welcome, Lindsey!). I started working, got married, started a family. Even when they moved to Virginia in the 80s, only 1.5 hrs away, I felt we didn’t see each other all that much. Then off to Florida the David’s moved in 1992.

I realized about 6 years ago that in order to cultivate a relationship as adult siblings, it’s on me to make it happen (as sisters frequently do). I began calling him periodically to reconnect and was grateful Dale was always willing to share the time with me; I never felt like I was a nuisance little sister. More recently, the past few years, the calls were every few weeks. Dale always asked about my kids, my car, my job; he was a great listener which showed me he truly cared. He shared recipes or cooking shows he watched, and I was very content with whatever he was willing to give.

The most touching and meaningful memory of our time together occurred during my 2019 visit, when I asked Dale if we do something together with his portion of our father’s ashes. Under cover of December darkness, we “snuck” onto the golf course where he and Dad frequently played years ago. We scattered Dad’s ashes together in several locations as Dale told me stories of their times together on the course. I was awash in laughter and tears; I couldn’t have asked for a better send-off for our Dad than being together with my big brother who planned and shared the experience with me.

The story ends on the other sad day when too early Dale unexpectedly left me, and all of us, who loved and admired him, who were touched by his humor, humanity, and compassion. We are all better for having known his true, kind, gentle soul.