Ode to the Existential Cowboy
Broken
I feel broken
My brother Thomas Uldrich has taken flight, and I
I did not get to say goodbye
No send-off
No final hug
No last, I love you
Unless he received my letters
But letters could not save him.
This is a letter of sorts. I hope you’ll take the time to read it.
If I have ever written to you, you’ll recognize the mix and mess of metaphors.
I am just trying to make some meaning out of what sometimes feels like a meaningless world…
Rahu and Ketu are shadowy twins of Vedic astrology.
My brother identified deeply as a Gemini, born on May 23rd, 1962
He struggled with demons
And sought to be angelic
A dual diagnosis of chemical dependency and bipolar disorder
Dogged him for most of his life
He was funny and kind
Generous and gifted
Witty, wonderful, and whipsawed
A poet beyond compare
The first time he took LSD and ended up in the hospital, I had my first panic attack
Even as a child, I could not comprehend life without him
There were several times throughout my life
when I would feel his anxiety and despair from afar as if I were in his twin
In truth, it was my sister, who was his Irish twin
Tom was also like a cat (an animal he revered)
He had nine lives if not more
He escaped death often and lived on the edge
He was an extraordinary thrifter. His wardrobe was impeccable and stylish
His favorite color was robin’s egg blue
He had cat class and cat-style
His life was a balancing act
Once my Father caught him on the edge
Another acid trip
And somehow, he saved him
He talked him off the ledge
When my Father died in 2019, Tom went to him
I wonder if he needed to look death in the face
Who would save him from the future ledges he would teeter upon?
I think he felt broken when my Father took flight
Sadly, I don’t know the fine art of Kintsugi
If I did
I would have filled Tom’s broken places with gold
And made him stronger
Since my Father’s death, Tom’s cycles of dependency
Mania and depression became more and more frequent
He tried to quell them with alcohol and drugs
I think sometimes he sought God that way
Trying to make meaning out of a mean diagnosis
When we went into lockdown in 2020, loneliness and fear overtook him
Are we even aware of how many people are still reeling from that time?
For some, like Tom, it was an incomprehensible trauma.
In addition to isolation,
Our fair city of Minneapolis was torn apart by racism and hatred
Tom walked those streets by himself
And I know he was scared
He told me
About a year or so ago, I was driving back to Minneapolis, crossing the Mendota bridge
I looked up and saw something radical, amazing, and utterly enthralling
Two eagles were in a death grip
This happens when two males become territorial
They lock talons and plummet toward Earth, spiraling in a terrifying descent
I could not believe my eyes
At the last minute, they released their grip
I took this metaphor that Nature granted me to mean that Tom
Could somehow release his grip from his conniving evil twin
Whether it was Rahu or Ketu who released their grip that time, I don’t know
Tom often struggled with his self-worth
He would, at times, compare his achievements to his siblings
I once called him an autodidact, and he thought it was an insult
I laughed and told him to look it up
It means you are self-taught
I told him he was probably the most intelligent of all of us kids
and I meant it
Within a few weeks, he made me a funny card about it and sent it
He was so well-read. The classics were like fine cuisine to him. He devoured and savored them. The last book he read was Pride and Prejudice. I sent it to him this Spring after he told me he never read it.
I couldn’t fill his broken bowl with gold, but I could certainly pull a great book from my bookshelf and pop it in the mail. I tried to steer him away from the authors he found himself so drawn to: Men who shared his plight
Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Dylan Thomas
He was also transfixed by the Virgin Mary, Our Lady of Guadalupe
He made countless works of art of her and gave them away
Let it be, let it be
In this hour of darkness, I’m seeking words of wisdom
I hope she was with him in his final days and hours
Soothing his brow, calming his soul
He shut us out in his last few months
I wonder what he let in?
Throughout his life,
He danced and laughed and did acts of great service
He broke laws and boundaries
It breaks me that I do not know the exact day he died
I am choosing to believe it was October Friday the 13th
Not because I am morbid but rather because I believe he would find it darkly humorous to tell us that was the day his luck ran out — and that the following day, a stunning solar eclipse would occur
Leaving a burning ring of fire for all to see
Followed by days of stunning autumnal sunsets
He also left in a month of duality — early October is the time of Libra
The scales of equanimity tipped
And he poured his last drink sometime last week
Tipping the scales unjustly toward death
He took risks and gambled with his precious life
He called himself the “Existential Cowboy”
Tommy found hundreds of playing cards throughout his life
Just lying on the sidewalk
Over the years, he collected entire (unmatched) decks
In each separate card, I wonder if he divined some sort of meaning
Some kind of street tarot
Who does that?
What kind of luck is that?
The county examiner, who was lovely and kind, told me she found him tucked in his bed,
Like he went gently in his sleep
Like all good gamblers ought
She also said he had a “big heart.”
What she meant was it was enlarged,
I thanked her profusely for using those specific words
And for telling me he died in his sleep
She was right
His heart was too big and tender for this world
I can make no sense of his suffering
I am certain he raged against the dying of the light
I know he struggled in the darkness with demons
I can never imagine
Every year, as the light waned, he desperately tried to keep some semblance of hope alive
Making each one of us in the family
Gifts of profound beauty and depth
Now, as the light fades
I find myself keening like our good Irish relatives once did
I can’t seem to stop crying right now
Some battles are fought on the front lines
Some are fought in our minds
Others in our bodies
He was too gentle for such brutality
He was a lover of beauty
Rebellious as he was
He was just a little drummer boy
Looking for a manger to pay tribute to a mother and her child
A manger to lie his sweet head in
I am looking for signs of him everywhere
Listening, wishing, waiting, sensing, I am fine-tuned to feel any sort of remains
A vibration
A dream
A sunset
A bird
A song
If you knew him, consider yourself lucky
I know I do
And if you know someone
Who shares
His plight
Or,
If you are that person
Do your best to
Be compassionate
And know
No one metaphor or story encapsulates the complexity this life holds
One of the last things he sent me (I think he sent it to everyone in the family) was a note that said simply:
“Namaste,” with a smiley face
…That seems a very fitting ending to the Vedic Twins
A Bow to the Divinity of Everyone
A reminder God resides in us ALL
XOXO
This piece was originally published on Meta on October 19th. The healing and the ‘signs’ that poured in after putting it out into the Universe have been astounding. Grief knows no boundaries, and writing has helped me process this loss. I want to thank my brother Jack Uldrich, for encouraging me to write and share this. Thank you for taking the time to read this.
