Honoring the Life of a 13 Year Old Brother

A lot of stories concerning the Blizzard of '78 have been posted on Facebook and reported on the local news over the past few days.  I know that this winter has conjured up many memories of that time for most Hoosiers.  I have read several of the posts, looked at the pictures and watched the news reports.  Even with all of these reminders of that time period, the only memory that comes to my mind is a faint recollection of walking to downtown Nappanee with my Dad marveling at drifts of snow taller than I was.  I couldn't tell you if we missed school or how cold it was.  I was nine at the time, so I should remember, but I don't.  I can, however, tell you everything about the winter of 1977.  It was a time of snow forts, snowball fights with the neighbors, sledding in the driveway and playing outside with our dog.

I didn't realize that I had no memories of 1978 until this winter.  It doesn't surprise me.  There is so much about that time period that I have blocked out.  Too much sadness after the death of my brother, Bunk, made this a challenging time.  One of my psych professors in college told me that I may never remember certain periods of my life.  My brain has deemed those memories too traumatic.  I am ok with that.  I cherish the memories that I do have.  I loved that winter of 1977 and the pictures that my Mom took of my brother and I in the snow.

Thus, if you look at my Facebook posts or call to see how we are doing during the winter of 2014, you will not hear me complaining.  I have thoroughly enjoyed the family time that we have had while being snowed in this winter.  There have been Legos built, games played, WII tournaments completed, spelling words practiced, calls to Bloomington enjoyed, and puzzles started.  I have seen the excitement of a fifteen year old as he reads the school closing list and finds Wawasee on it, and the fun that only a nine and twelve year old can have on a snow day.  The Heinisch children will have wonderful memories of this winter and stories to pass on to their own children that I am sure will include one involving their Dad, a mailbox and the snowplow.  Time with family is the best way that I know how to honor the life of a 13 year old brother that gave his sister some great memories during the winter of 1977.