David my brother

40 years, four decades, 480 months, 14,600 days, 350,400 hours. 40 years, a significant portion of a lifetime. 40 years ago today, September 28, 1973 my life was forever changed. I did not know it had changed until September 30. 40 years ago today my older brother David Maurice Manning took his life, with a shotgun alone in his car in a garage. He was not found for two days.

I was 14 living in Utah with my mother. My older brother Taylor was serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. David was living in California with his wife Debbie and her son Paul. My two sisters were grown, married with children of their own.

Sunday evening September 30, the phone rang. I was in the living room sitting in an easy chair eating ice cream. My mother answered the phone in the kitchen. Immediately she started making a sound I at first mistook for laughter. As I listened I realized this was not laughter she was crying--not just crying she was wailing. I left my easy chair with my bowl of ice cream and stood in front of her on the phone.

"What's wrong?" I asked.
"David's dead!"

This I remember I threw my bowl of ice cream across the kitchen I uttered a profanity--one my mother had never heard me utter before. It was the big one. That was all I said.

Jim Withey my mother's fiancé, at the time, came into the kitchen--I left. He started to clean up the mess I made. I walked back into the living room and sat down. I don't know why I did this. I just did it. I suppose when my Mom got off the phone we hugged, I really don't remember.

Funny thing before this had taken place I remember thinking that if David died I would go and see Cindy Gardner. I suppose it was because I had a boyhood crush on her. But I had thought that through. That is what I did. I got on my 10-speed bike and rode over to her house. I could tell she was not there but in the neighborhood Jimmy Jeppeson was talking to Becky Chai. I rode over and visited with them. I don't think I told them what had happened. I didn't have the words. They both knew David. I didn't know how to start a conversation like this.

How do you segue from typical early school year conversation of football games and who looks cute to by the way my brother just died. I felt numb and being there with them wasn't helping. I rode away.

My Mother had a particularly hard time with suicide. This wasn't the first of her children to do this. Two years before my oldest brother Jerry committed suicide. By the morning my Mom told me to tell people that David had died from viral pneumonia. In Los Angeles? Anyway she told me to lie. Just as she had told me to lie about how Jerry died. Suicide was shameful and if people knew how my brothers had died it would bring more shame to my family besides being about the only divorced family in the neighborhood at the time.

The next morning as I went to the bus stop I was a little late and the bus was loaded and ready to drive away when I boarded. I looked down the aisle and the faces of the kids who usually completely ignored told me that they knew. We were kids, we did not have experience with what to say or not say. Most said nothing, they just looked at me as I sat down.

I don't remember who I was sitting by but as we made the 2 mile bus ride, he said "I heard about your brother." No hugs, no comforting arm around my shoulder. We didn't say much.

When the bus arrived at the school I went to my German class to take a test. I told the teacher I would be gone the rest of the week and I needed to take the test early. She sat me down at her desk and let me take the test. I went to work. Students began to file in for the first period class. I sat there quietly taking the test. Mrs. Snow shushed the kids so I could work away. As I pondered the answer to one of the questions I looked around. There on the desk was the answer key. I honestly did not want to cheat but there it was and I was ill prepared for this test. I mostly did not look but I did look for a few answers. Mrs. Snow caught me. She grabbed the answer key away and scolded me in front of everyone. About halfway through the first period class I finished the test and gathered up my things. I handed the finished test to her and headed for the door.

"Where are you going this week?" she asked.

My answer was barbed and designed to get back at her for scolding me in front of the class. "My brother's funeral." I shot back. Her stern look melted. She looked compassionate. I felt bad.

Nothing I was doing was helping me. I was lying, cheating being mean. But life had just taken from me my brother. I did not know how to cope with that.

David and I were never competitive with each other so we never seemed to bug each other. We got along. Beyond getting along, I wanted to be like him.

A later generation would have a commercial tag line "Be like Mike". David was my Mike. Why I ever wanted to be like a heavy duty drug user, who had spent more than a little time in jail I no longer understand. But I sought to emulate him.

With due consideration to my only living brother, David, at the time, was my favorite. He seemed to understand me. He taught me how to swim. I viewed him as the essence of cool. The passing 40 years have taught me that he wasn't. He was a lost soul, with a mental illness. Like so many with a mental illness he coped through drugs. But to me he was kind and understanding. A gentle soul.

My Mom and I flew to Los Angeles. We were met at the airport by Don Pollard, my brother-in-law. He had never met my mother before. I knew Don and started to introduce him to my Mom. He stepped past me and just hugged my mother. As I recall he was crying. I have always held a kind spot in my heart for Don for this kindly act.

The funeral came and went. That evening following the funeral. All from my side of the family were at my sister Jennifer's home. Her home was next door to David's in-laws. I knew them having spent a fair amount of time visiting David and Jennifer just a month before. I liked the "in-laws" I was alone in a living room while the grown ups talked in the kitchen. They were bad mouthing the "in-laws. The Cienfuegos were a kind but rugged family. They had accepted me completely as a family member. With all of the emotions of the past few days just building and building up inside of me, I felt like I was going to explode. I got up and I don't remember if I ran out the front door or just left quickly.

I stumbled out the door and began to sob. I saw Mr. Cienfuegos on the lawn in front of his house. He saw and heard me and ran over to comfort me. My family in Jennifer's kitchen heard the front door slam. They later told me they feared that Don was going out the door with his gun to shoot Mr. Cienfuegos. With this understanding when they came running out the front door and saw what looked like me wrestling Mr. Cienfuegos they ran to break it up. My father grabbed me in a bear hug to wrestle me away. I distinctly remember grabbing one of his finger and thinking the way to get out of this is to break his finger. I didn't, perhaps my first smart action of the past few days.

Soon everyone realized I was just having a melt down and Mr. Cienfuegos was there to help everything calmed down. Someone suggested that Jennifer take me for a drive.

As we were driving around doing very little talking just looking at the night and listening to the radio. A popular song of the day came on the radio. It touched me deeply. Daniel by Elton John.

Daniel is traveling tonight on a plane
I can see the red tail light heading for Spain
Oh, I can see Daniel waving goodbye
God, it looks like Daniel, must be the clouds in my eyes

They say Spain is pretty though I've never been
Well, Daniel says its the best place that he's ever seen
Oh, and he should know, he's been there enough
Lord, I miss Daniel , oh, I miss him so much

Daniel my brother, you are older than me
Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won't heal
Your eyes have died but you see more than I
Daniel you're a star in the face of the sky

To this day I can get emotional if I sing that song. That evening healing began for me.

At David's funeral the lyrics to a song that was David's favorite were shared. Old Man by Niel Young

Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were
Old man look at my life,
I'm a lot like you were.

Old man look at my life,
Twenty four
and there's so much more
Live alone in a paradise
That makes me think of two.

Love lost, such a cost,
Give me things
That won't get lost
Like a coin that won't get tossed
Rolling home to you.

Old man take a look at my life
I'm a lot like you
I need someone to love me
The whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes
and you can tell that's true

Lullabies, look in your eyes
Run around the same old town.
Doesn't mean that much to me
To mean that much to you

I've been first and last
Look at how the time goes past
But, I'm all alone at last
Rolling home to you.

Each year around this time I get the yearning to listen to this song. I used to listen to it over and over lying on the floor at home with the head phones on. No small task in the LP era. Through this song and Daniel I came to find some measure of peace.

But peace would prove elusive. Three years later, I was now in college. I had to write an English paper about a significant personal event in my life. I wrote about David. But peace had vanished in my life. Now I was haunted by the last few minutes I had spend with David.

David had come home in August of 1973 with his new wife Debbie and her new baby Paul. It was a joyful few days. David took me back to California with him. I spent a few weeks there taking in the Los Angeles area. It was an amazing time for me. When it was time to leave Jennifer took me to the airport. She drove by the car wash where David worked. After a few moments of small talk it was time to say goodbye. I felt like telling him I loved him. But in our family we just did not say that. The feeling to do so was strong but I chocked up and a wanna be tough guy doesn't cry when telling his older brother good bye. So we shook hands, the cool way, and said good bye.

Now three years later I was haunted by that moment. I wanted with all my heart to relive that moment and tell him that I loved him. But I could not. With the understanding I had at the time I thought perhaps I could have prevented his suicide. I poured my heart out in that paper. It was cathartic.

I had a wise professor. When my paper was returned in addition to the expected grammar corrections there was a personal note. In that note he told me the Atonement of Christ would take away my pain. I did not understand why or how.

In the years and decades that have followed, my life has gone on. Through my own struggles with a mental illness, I have learned a lot of what David was dealing with, this has given me a great deal of empathy and understanding. Beyond all that I have found that the Atonement has provided the peace and healing I had been seeking. How that happened I do not know. What I do know is the pain is completely gone and peace has taken its place.

David where ever you are, I still miss you and look to you as my older brother. I wish nothing for you but the peace that I now know.