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My brother, David Marcus Shurtleff, was born November 7, 1952. As I understand it, a blood vessel broke in his brain during birth and left him with severe cerebral palsy and somewhat mentally retarded. He died on November 11, 1977, almost a complete year after my father died, due to complications following surgery. David was a unique brother. Despite his handicap he was the happiest person I have ever known. His joys in life were very simple and serve as an example for me to this day. He loved to stroll in the park, tear up old magazines, and sit beside a pond and throw rocks to see the splash. Since the cerebral palsy affected every muscle in his body he couldn't talk or run. While he could walk on smooth surfaces fairly well, he couldn't walk down a staircase. This didn' t impede his zest to explore his surroundings. His inability to talk affected our ability to understand him far more greatly than his ability to understand us. On our nature walks he would point at various things and ask about them and make commentary. To us these were just sounds that made no sense. Had he lived longer, I might have learned to interpret them. We would do things as a family that normally we didn't do or would wait until David was with us to do them. Tour the Christmas lights around town, ride the train in Zilker Park, stroll around the block, hunting Easter eggs and other relatively simple joys. |
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My Dad, O.O. Shurtleff and David crossing that bridge together. |
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| I learned a little about childcare through him. David needed to be cleaned in ways similar to a small child. I occasionally would bathe him and women are often surprised to see this long haired, blue collared, red necked, never been married, maintenance guy change diapers with the best of them. He also taught me just how fast kids can get into things when you aren't looking. |
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| His sense of humor and love for pranks has been unsurpassed by anyone I've met. He would let out these "war whoops" out of excitement and mischievousness. He got into the habit of letting out one of those whoops every time I got into the pick up truck and closed the door. After a few ear ringings, I got the idea to roll down the window before I closed the door. I did so and David sat there making nary a sound. After Dad drive the truck about a block down the street I figured that David had his mind on other things. The instant the window made that sealing sound when it rolls shut David turned with a huge grin on his face and let out his loudest war whoop. Durn stinker. |
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| One of the darker periods of my family's life was when David slipped into a coma. One evening David became unusually aggressive and difficult to manage. Not majorly so by external standards but for him it was way out of line with his normally pleasant, happy self. That night he slipped into a coma and had to be transported to the State Hospital. There he stayed for three or four days in some kind of nightmare state. When he regained consciousness, he was his happy self again but his facial features took on a continence that is common among the more profoundly retarded. Fortunately that never reoccurred and his personality was apparently unaffected. |
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| David also provided me with one of the most profound comparisons in all of my life. I've met those who chose to act as a helpless victims. Suffering from some kind of martyr complex they would find every woe in life to agonize over. If there weren't any, some will work to create woe. Healthy, fit and able to learn, they chose to mope, brood, and be depressed and helpless. Yet there before me was David. Truly helpless and dependent upon others, he was always happy and showing his love for us. Never hostile or hurtful he was a most pleasant and joyful person to be with. David's helpless but happy compared to those who are enabled but suffering convinced me that much of what we are is our choice. I'm certainly trying to make the good choices. |
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PAGE TWO OF DAVID'S STORY. CLICK ON THE THUMBNAIL. |
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