David Claude OBryant

For those who do not know me, I'm the friend Collin mentioned, Alex, who spent some time with Uncle David at the end. The Obryants have been a second family for me these past 15 years, so naturally, Uncle David played a part in my life with that wonderful family. What follows is largely what I shared with Collin when he asked me if I had any particular memories of him. It's long because, as a future English professor, I like my words. And because Uncle David deserves them. My memories of Uncle David are legion, though they are mostly limited to enjoyable anecdotes. There's something to be said for having a consistent collection of small fond memories over time; it speaks to the character of the individual. I remember visiting his woodshop, his gift of the wooden cross for me before one of my deployments (which made it with me to three or four deployments and dozens of countries), watching Ben Hur in his apartment that one time for some reason, him always putting ice in his wine, his toasts at family gatherings and him seated at the head of the table, etc. My actual interactions and conversations with him have been surprisingly limited though, partly due to my own awkward nature in my earlier stages of life and partly because he always seemed to be around as part of a larger family affair. Really, the thing that stands out most about Uncle David to me - largely an outsider - is his influence on his younger brother, Dan. The last substantial conversation I had with Uncle D happened on the first day of my visit during his last week of life. Dan asked him if he had any scholarly advice for me, and I added that life, or any, advice was welcome as well. Though he could barely articulate the words, his message to me was clear: "take it and run." Strangely, Dan, who had been interpreting his pained speech for me up until then (because I could barely make out his words) didn't understand what he had said. Dan replied, "What was that?" and I answered his question by repeating Uncle David's words: take it and run. Uncle David nodded imperceptibly, the pleasure of being understood spreading across his face in a smile. The next day, he simply held out his hand to me and I held it. I learned later that his right arm was in a lot of pain, but he raised it either to hold my hand or shake it in the normal, professional manner of greeting. Regardless of the reason, it took a tremendous effort for him to do so. I held it for a while, considering the contrast between our hands, his nearly lifeless, the blood crawling through his veins, and mine, still smooth, developed, and warm with the vitality of youth. I eventually laid his hand at his side once he had fallen back asleep. His advice to me is simple enough. Cliché even. Dan said it was well-put and that David had run the race well. Uncle David expressed his usual humble doubts that he was not so sure. In normal circumstances, I'm not certain I would have remembered the advice for long, but the circumstances were not normal. In that moment - Uncle David enduring his last days - his advice struck me not as the typical patronizing advice given in abundance to children by well-meaning adults, but as a handing of a baton. Uncle David still wanted to "take it and run" but knew his running days were gone. In effect, he wasn't just giving me advice, like one would give food out at a homeless shelter: laudably yet endlessly, repeatable. He was telling me, "It's your turn now. I'm done running. You and the others must run for me, and you must run because - if you're lucky - you'll be where I am one day, unable to run any longer. I am entrusting to you to run as I would if I were given another chance." Not that he didn't run himself, of course, but if he had another life, I'm sure he would take that one and run as well. It was a wonderful and unrepeatable moment. Back to Dan. Clearly, Uncle David has always been a role model to him, comforting and reassuring him as he aged. I imagine that David modeled much of what Dan has become today, though I can only take Dan's word for it. Regardless of the fact that Dan said he was handling it all quite well, there were moments that struck me as oddly tender for members of a generation not known for expressing emotion. After my first talk with Uncle David, Dan started running his hand over his head, in the motion one would pet a cat. I gathered that Uncle D's head itched, but there was something almost parental (not paternal) in the act. David's features relaxed as obvious satisfaction and pleasure washed over him. Dan's embracing gesture, much like a parent soothing a child, betrayed, at least to me, the difficulty of watching a brother leave. In my journal I wrote it this way: "Physical touch, proximity, caressing love, between two men who grew up in a world where such gentleness is not typical of how men love. That moment, Dan's hand running over the blotched and decaying scalp, and the childish satisfaction evident on David's face, has stuck with me. In the helplessness of death, pride is no more, only an appreciation of love and care - normally reserved for private moments - remains." The reversal of caretaker and child struck me as a powerful symmetry in the story-arc of their lives. I'm glad they got to be together at the end. I'm only sorry I did not get to spend more time getting to know Uncle David and learning from him like the people in my life have. I look forward to meeting him again one day once my race has been run.