I have four of them... brothers, and I watched them grow up in the shadows of the elm trees on 2nd East. I saw fist fights, name calling, rock throwing, and wrestling matches in cow pies--but in the end they always had each other's back. Brothers are like that...brothers share the rough and tumble sort of love. This love is unspoken, but always there.
I found his picture... the one I had been searching for... I wasn't even sure it existed, but there it was- Jared Dickson. Jared died in the flu epidemic of 1918. The Dickson family had already lost one brother to the horrid flu, Abel J. Dickson on October 16, 1928 and then two days later Jared died at Fort Logan. His brothers carried him to his grave.
We lost Uncle Kurt two years ago... it was a massive stroke that took him from his beautiful wife, eight children and grandchildren. He was a great man! I loved him dearly... I hope he knew that- On the night my Travis had a stroke, he came to the hospital to give Travis a blessing with my dad. In a very dark hour, he made me smile and feel such an enormous source of love. And then, he made me smile as he showed off his missing thumb...
My dad misses him everyday, and every time there is a big game on... He made my father FUN! Together they up grew along the banks of the Logan River chasing butterflies. Kurt knew how to get my dad's "goat" so to speak, and dad well he helped Kurt find his way from time to time.
Kurt's brother's watched as his own sons lowered him to his grave. I can still hear Uncle Kurt saying... "Don't take any wooden nickels, friend."
Butterflies- for Kurt
-written by Katherine Weaver Walker, February 23, 2012
Butterflies
you chased,
often caught.
Your smile-
so very warming.
That special walk-
I loved!
What do I say?
Oh I miss you!
But the butterflies
I know must be sought.
My brothers and father (Left to right) Chris Dickson, Cleve, Max Kimball, Kim, and Michael.
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