Brothers Lost

I lost two brothers in the last few months. You don’t always think about the men your sisters married as brothers, but they were the only ones I had since my own (natural) brother died at the age of two in 1950. 

Both of my late-found brothers lived into their 80s, as I have now. That’s an accomplishment these days and one we all shared. 

We did not do the things that brothers growing up together did, since we came into each other’s lives later in life, the first when I was about 14 years old and the other when I was in my late 40s. Roy joined my family in 1960; Ernst joined in 1992. We had relationships based on what adult families have, centred around our respective individual families and on our personal interests developed after childhood. 

We were raised in very different circumstances. One brother was from a small rural area of southern Manitoba, the other was from a small rural area of Denmark. I was a city boy from Calgary. What each of us had in common, though, were strong individual family ties and values. We were relatively close in age: them seven and two years older than me, gaps that became less important or significant over the decades we knew each other. We aged in tandem, eventually acquiring physical problems and limitations not unique to gender or genetics but probably largely from just living longer. 

We enjoyed each others company during special family get-togethers: Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving dinners; quieter visits to our individual homes; celebrations of our children’s and grandchildren’s activities and milestones; and just general and friendly exchanges of conversation and ideas. We did not vacation together but did share the times and experiences we each spent in similar and different places. 

Our work and life experiences were different as well which brought other perspectives to our own lives. We could discuss sports, politics, philosophy, municipal affairs, children’s traumas, sisters (our common bond), and attitudes of youth (not necessarily our own of course). 

 We did not see each other much in the last few years. Age, distance, health and families tend to be drivers of what we can do in later life. Telephone and electronic communications have their place, but you do miss the in-person get-togethers. The death of my oldest sister, who Roy married, a decade ago and our move away from Alberta more recently resulted in disruptions to what had been more regular visits. At the end it is always a regret that one could not spend more time with people they had become close to. 

Relationships like I have had with these brothers, are a reminder that families are not just made up of blood-related individuals but include all those people who we are fortunate enough to have join us in a wider group, bonded by love. 

To paraphrase Ernest Hemingway: Every person has two deaths, when they are buried in the ground and the last time someone says their name. In some ways people can be immortal. Both my brothers were loved in life they will be missed. While their physical presence is no longer with us, they will certainly be immortal to all of us who are left to remember them. 

RIP Roy and Ernst.

Roy (1938-2026), Ernst (1943-2026) Pictured in the year they became part of my family, Roy in 1960, Ernst in 1992.