REMEMBERING LARRY SHEDENHELM WITH LOVE

I choose today to write (and brag) about my brother, Larry Shedenhelm, because I miss him and because he deserves to be remembered.

He was the middle brother in our family- in-between Randy and me- and in many ways, he manifested the behaviors of a middle child. He was quieter and more controlled than we were, and he was more reserved than we were as adults as well, unless he was recapping a round of golf.  He also seemed less willing to share his feelings and he didn't have much time for idle chatter, at least not around home. Whereas Randy and I coped with our dystfunctional home by "acting out," Larry found two ways of "getting out" of the way as much as he could. He kept himself busy at work, for one thing. Like Randy and me, Larry had a very strong work ethic and, like us, he entered the grocery business as soon as they would hire him. Working alot was one of Larry's ways of staying away from home, but his favorite venue was "Anne's house." Anne was his first and last love, and he found a place and a peace in her world. So, that's where he spent much, if not most, of his time.

Randy and I were more outgoing- maybe more needy- than Larry, who never sought center stage or grabbed for a microphone, although he could handle both when the occasions arose. He was reserved, even dignified, and in my view, he always cast an imposing presence. Whether it was business attire or sportswear, Larry was impeccably dressed. His suits fit perfectly; his shirts were always tucked in, his shoes were exquisite (and shined), and his socks stayed up. They never seemed to sag (and he didn't even hold them up with rubber bands). In a word, Larry was stately and refined.  He loved good wine, grilling fine cuts of meat, and the best of cigars.  He was also the BEST leader that I ever knew personally, and I say that as someone who hired and supervised hundreds of managers. Larry was a "master" at building relationships and people, and he never lost control or sight of the bigger picture- not once in my presence. He never took his eye off the ball, figuratively speaking, and it was a remakable thing to see. He was the best athlete in our family, and I often wished that I could hit a golf ball as far, or as accurately, as he did.

They say that the oldest child and the middle child always manifest different traits and behaviors, and Larry and I were not exception to this rule. Where I sought greener pastures, Larry preferred to bloom where he was planted; where I felt a need to grab a problem "by the throat," Larry let time take care of it; and where I tended to compete with others, Larry competed with his own best self. My brother was not perfect, and could not have been since he grew up in the same home I grew up in. But he was... very... very good, and he was a great model of what it means to be a husband and a father, and for that matter, a successful executive. I never once saw him belittle or demean any person, and I never witnessed a single time when his guests were not welcomed with gladness and dignity.

Three years ago, I was blessed to spend a bloc of time with Larry. He was in the hospital (again) and his fight with cancer was nearing an end. Although Larry was NOT a quitter, he could read the writing on the wall, and so we took the time to reflect on things big and small. I asked him if he was afraid to die, and he said, almost matter-of-factly, that he was not. I asked him if he thought he would see our brother, Randy, in heaven, and Larry said that, while he might not "see" him, he was sure that he would be aware of his presence. Since we both dearly loved the song, "Me and Bobby McGee." I played Crystal Bowersox's version for him, and we agreed that it was almost as good as Janis Joplin's original. The aides and nurses came in and out, and we kept talking. We talked about our childhood and shared memories. We talked about our golf outings and shared memories (Larry could remember his golf rounds in precise detail). We talked about our shared love for management and the grocery business- from the moment he managed that little store in Omaha to the time when he was a VP with a sizeable retail chain. Larry had been an Little League all-star (he had a imposing curveball) and we shared those memories as well. Our families spent alot of time together when Larry was working in Omaha, and we shared memories of those times, like the time Larry dug a deep trench around his entire foundation to solve a water problem in the basement, and his fascination (make that, obsession) with his personal fireworks shows on the 4th of July.

However, we focused on his love for those who composed his family at that time. He told both of our girls (Sherry and mine) that he loved them, and he showered love on the wonderful family that he and Anne had made. He was reflective, but not remorseful; aware, but not fearful; and I knew, when I left him, that we would never speak again. We didn't. He fell into a coma and died. He didn't quit, but his creator called the game, and he passed into another reality- one which I cling to with every fiber of my being. His family was with him to the end, and then one night, his son, Larry, called and told me that his dad had died. I bit my upper lip and thanked him for the call. I tried to stay strong through it all. But a day or so later, a deep sadness overwhelmed me, and I cried like a baby! I've taken up golf again, and as I put on Larry' golf shoes, I see him, standing over the ball with a disciplined stance, as it sets on the tee. He brings the big-headed driver I gave him... back... methodically, slowly, and then, he strikes the ball, forcibly and squarely... and hits it a mile. Oh my, I am so very glad that God gave me the chance to tell my "in-between" brother that I loved him with all my heart!