Today, Greg and Linda are moving to a new home in a new city, marking the start of chapter. Today is also Greg’s 69th birthday.
My name is LeAnne, and I’m Greg’s younger sister. We are the third and fourth of four children, with almost six years between us.
Once Greg could drive, he was tasked with taking me to school on the way to his high school. I’m sure he found that annoying, but I thought it was pretty cool to get out of my brother’s SUV (not an actual term in those days) in front of my school.
Two sounds from those rides have stuck with me all these years: the satisfying thunk of an 8-track tape being slammed into the player bracketed under the dash, and the sound of 8-track tapes being tossed into the plastic milk crate filled with other tapes on the floor of the back seat.
Speaking of 8-track tapes, my musical tastes were greatly influenced by my older siblings. From Greg, I developed a taste for the Doobie Brothers, J. Geils Band, Marshall Tucker Band, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Fleetwood Mac, Jackson Browne, and the Allman Brothers, to name a few.
My first paying job was working for Greg as his paper-route assistant. We tossed the afternoon edition from his International Travelall during the week, and on weekends we assembled and rolled the fat Sunday edition on our family’s kitchen floor in the predawn hours before delivering it.
He paid me $2 a day.
Reading that today, it sounds like some child labor laws must have been trampled. But in the 1970s, $2 was pretty decent money for a 10-year-old!
Greg had a bit of a reputation in school. I distinctly remember the first hour of the first day of my sixth grade. While calling the roll, Mrs. Haynes paused when she reached my name, looked me in the eye, and said, “You aren’t Greg’s sister, are you?”
Clearly, he had made a lasting impression six years earlier. I suspect other teachers had the same reaction upon seeing our shared last name, but she was the only one so candid about her feelings.
During my teenage and young adult years, he saved me from more than a couple of predicaments.
My car broke down late one afternoon in Atlanta, where I had day-tripped for a job interview. After he finished working the 11:00 news at the local TV station, Greg came to my rescue, arriving at 3 a.m. We towed my car 180 miles back home, after stopping for nourishment at Waffle House.
I’ll skip the details of the other pickles, in the interest of self-preservation.
Greg has always been driven, brimming with idealism, passionate, enthusiastic, innovative, and rarely deterred by risk. Impetuous and impulsive? Absolutely. Is it any surprise he became an entrepreneur?
For all those shared experiences of childhood and young adulthood, Greg and I have ventured in very different directions as adults. We vote differently, worship differently, and generally see the world through different lenses. Like many siblings, adult life has brought us seasons of closeness and seasons of estrangement.
It was during one of those seasons of estrangement last year that Greg reached out and told me about his Alzheimer’s diagnosis.
Greg’s and Linda’s lives have been upended by this diagnosis and all that comes with it.
Each day brings a new dose of uncertainty, struggle, frustration, turmoil, and fear. Amid all this, though, courage and hope remain. And love.
This isn’t a life chapter that anyone would choose, but it is their reality, and they are learning how to navigate it together—with the support of friends, family, and even strangers.
Our relationship isn’t the stuff of fairytales, and it is imperfect. But beneath it all is something stronger: he is my brother.
Thank you for the childhood adventures, the lessons you probably didn’t know you were teaching, and for reminding me that family isn’t measured by agreement or perfection.
As you and Linda move and settle into your new home, I wish you peace and joy. I wish you courage and wisdom for the road ahead. I hope you always know that you don’t walk it alone.
Happy birthday, Greg. I’m glad you’re my brother.
Happy birthday! 🥳 Glad to hear you're getting relocated. I believe stability is therapeutic for us when so much of our future is unknown. (I'm in the early stage of AD too.) I have found that taking an antianxiety medication is extremely helpful for managing, but not preventing, my doomsday thinking. My med is Buspar. Just wanted to share that. Wishing you and Linda a smooth and uneventful move.
Linda