Dalton Makepeace McCreary March 28, 1994 - August 22, 2016 In Remembrance of...
He was not my son. He did not grow in my womb but when he was an infant with colic and my sister and my mother grew frustrated with his cries I put his bloated little tummy over my knees and gently rocked him until he fell asleep. I helped make so many of his Halloween costumes. I harped on him endlessly to get his taxes done until he finally showed up on April 14 th and let me do them for him. My daughter was his sister. But he was not my son. He was not my brother. We were not born of the same parents but it was my parents who helped to raise him. Together we worried about my mother’s health as she slowly succumbed to Alzheimer’s and I watched him tenderly care for her and worry and dote over my father. He would call me and ask me to
check up on Paws, worry about his diet, if he made it to his doctor appointment, or if his insulin levels were ok. He even just worried about whether or not his Old Man was happy. Dalton helped me find my new home. He helped me hang the Christmas lights and make home repairs, and even tore my motorcycle apart and then couldn’t get it put back together. He drove down my street all the time just to make sure everything looked safe. He approved of my boyfriend and he was my protector. We argued like siblings. But he was not my brother. He was not my friend. Our DNA, our name, our blood is the same. He was more than my friend. He was not just my nephew. I went with him to his first Bronco’s game. I took him to his first Red Rocks concert. I was his Auntie. But he was not just my nephew. He was my back up in life. The guy who bailed me out of a jam; broke into my car when the keys were locked in it, even though he was the one locked the keys in there to begin with. Picked me up when my car broke down. Took my mom to the hospital with me and kept me company on long nights when things weren’t going so well. We took long walks through the cemetery and he knew exactly what I wanted done with my ashes when I died, and promised he would take care of my girls. He was not any one of those things he was all of them. And now I am without my son, my brother, my nephew, my friend, my back up in life and the world is a little less beautiful than it was on August 21 st . Heaven is a time machine. And if you want to know where Dalton is right now, I’d like you to close your eyes for just a moment. It’s 1973. There is a transistor radio blaring the Who, Pink Floyd, and some weird Japanese techno band you’ve never heard of. Off in the back ground is a 1973 Scout made of real steel. He is there sitting on the ground building a café racer out of some old Japanese bike he found in a garbage pile. His garage is a mess, and he probably can’t find his 11 millimeter wrench. If you come across him there and you feel lost, just go up to him and ask him for directions. He’ll offer you a drink and point you in the right direction because he always seems to know where everything is, except his 11 millimeter wrench because that’s under a pile of manuals that he’s collected, read, and memorized. He’ll offer you a drink and a handshake, and that handshake means something to him because a man is as good as his word, and his name means something. At least to Dalton it does. He’s there right now in his messy garage and he’s building whatever he wants. There are no lap tops and cellphones to get in his way, and if there are, he’s lost his by now so don’t bother trying to call him. He’s got a couple of cats and a little white dog to keep him company for now. He’s got plenty of manuals full of facts and figures to keep him busy. And when it’s your turn. When it’s my turn. He’ll come pick you up at the gates so you won’t have far to walk and he’ll take you wherever you need to go. He is there, patient and kind. Taking care of all of us from heaven just the way he took care of us when he was here. - Erin Garcia Submitted by: Bradi McCreary
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