When I arrived at Dad's for one of my trips out there early last Spring. Big Bro took me out to Dad's porch, where there was the melodious tinkling of a wind chime, something Dad and I both love. But this wasn't the usual cutesy "picked up at a beach gift shop" wind chime. This was something Big Bro made while he was going through chemo. He had chemo and radiation at the same time. With the cancer at Stage Four, it was pretty aggressive. Needless to say, he didn't feel exactly perky.
But like me, he doesn't sit still well. So, on the days he was well enough to get out, he'd pick up pieces of wood and what not, to add to his collection of things picked up from the beach. And when he was too weak to walk, he made Bull Art. In the form of wind chimes, for family, for friends.
You see a wind chime, made of rough materials. I see a symbol; of finding beauty in the face of that which severs one abruptly from the life they knew and did not wish to discard, into a medium we are born to fear, where even our identity can be lost, as hair and flesh fall away. I hear the sound of that which will never be forgotten. Memory. Family. Hope.