Filing into a pew reserved for family members, I looked for my siblings: Carolyn, who became an athlete under her older brother’s supervision; Bob, his shadow who knew him best; Barbara, so young she thought he was the school principal when he came home on leave; Blaine and JL, toddlers who responded to the happiness his return visits brought to our home. I included myself, the middle child who idolized him. When I realized I had counted only six, I thought, “But that’s wrong. We’ve always been seven.”
It would take time to learn to live with Lawrence’s absence.
Waiting for his funeral to begin, I revisited the wave of grief that jolted me from myself when Bob called with news of our older brother’s heart attack and death. An overwhelming sense of profound loss overcame my usual constraints, and I mourned, my emotions raw and unrestrained.
When young, I knew my parents would probably die before I did, but assumed my siblings and I would move through life together, dying en masse when very, very, very old. More recently, I understood Lawrence’s problematic heart would one day fail him, but didn’t know that when it did so, it would break mine as well.
In the days following the news of his death, I called my siblings; they called me; we called each other again as we tried to process our loss, to make it believable, to acknowledge that death had entered our ranks and now walked among us. If our steadfast older brother had died, so could we. We were now the generation that would slip away — a few at a time at first and then with increasing frequency — as the world went about its business.
A year has passed, but I still feel moments of loneliness for my brother, Lawrence. I sense the hand that steadied my bicycle, the voice that made Mom laugh, the teasing that never became mean, the gleeful cackle that punctuated our lives. I see the long, slender, adolescent body stretched high in a cottonwood tree hanging a swing and then pushing me in it if I asked politely.
I remember the marine sergeant who answered my letters at length and danced — so poorly it hurt to watch — at his wedding. I see the proud young father who posed for pictures holding his first child cradled against him with one hand and his college diploma in the other. I hear the voice of the middle-aged man who wept when he called to tell me his beloved daughter, the same child he held after his graduation, had died at sixteen.
Helen Keller said, “Those you have loved deeply remain part of you forever.”
I take comfort in the truth of her statement; but my heart still misses a beat when I realize that now we are six.
Adapted from an earlier column published in the Craig Daily Press. My apologies to my Craig readers for the repetition of content, but I wanted to acquaint my blog friends with my oldest brother and what losing him has meant to me.
Janet, I wept when I read this post. It is heartbreaking to lose part of our close family and realize that part of our lives is gone forever. You brought this home in such a loving and familiar story. We lost our beloved son-in-law two years ago to cancer, and will always feel the sting. So sorry for your loss.
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Thank you for your empathy and understanding, Kayti, and I’m sorry for your family’s recent loss. A wise friend once told me you never get used to the loss of a loved one, but with time you learn how to deal with it.
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It’s so bittersweet. The heart aches and loves simultaneously. Blessings.
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I like your description. It is amazing how our hearts ache and love, as you said, and even laugh when we think of those we’ve lost. I guess it’s called being human.
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As I grow older, I believe I am touched more every day. Perhaps it’s because my relationships have ripple effects like that pebble in the pond.
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Again, what a beautiful thought, that our relationships ripple around us, constantly touching us and others. Thank you for sharing it with me.
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It’s good to visit with you, Janet. 🍓 Blessings!
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“Those you have loved deeply remain part of you forever.” Helen Keller said it well. This post brought back memories of a man that was a younger version of my Grandpa. Thank you, Aunt Janet. The void we feel at his loss will always be present. But, I know he will always be with each of us, forever.
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You have such a sweet, loving spirit, Dawna. Thank you. I, too, saw my dad in my brother, so in a way, it felt like a double loss.
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Thank you for this. A loving remembrance and a reminder of those who leave holes in our hearts. In our family, we still have two of my father’s cousins, now in their nineties. We call them “the top of the heap” and recognize that they are our last buffer to that final stage.
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I smiled at the cousins who are top of the heap, those stalwart ancestors who preceded us and do, indeed, buffer us against the realization of our own mortality.
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I do believe they live on in our mind.
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They do, indeed, Rob. Our minds are the ultimate memorial for departed loved ones.
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A very nice tribute and introduction to your brother Janet. I am sorry for your loss and I understand that though time eases grief, it never really passes.
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I’m glad you read this post as a tribute and introduction to Lawrence because that’s what I hoped to do as I wrote it. Thank you.
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Thank you for sharing your loss and your memories of Laurence. I am lucky not to have lost a sibling yet but as the eldest in our family I am starting to see friends and acquaintance of around my age pass away. It makes me sad but also to try harder to acknowledge and treasure those I am close to.
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As our circle shrinks, we do tend to cling more closely, pay more attention to, those dear ones we still have. Thank you for your wise comment, Lynne.
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The death of a loved one affects us deeply. But the joyful memories we carry helps to keep them close in our hearts. You painted a sweet memory to share with your readers.
May God continue to bless you with loving memories of your brother.
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Thank you for your lovely comment, Debbie. It’s nice to hear that my tribute to my brother touched the hearts of others.
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This may be one of my favorites of yours, Janet. So exquisitely written and profoundly felt. You have such a gift, and we are all so blessed by it. Thank you.
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Oh, Carolyn, thank you for such kind words. You know how I value your opinion and appreciate the long friendship we’ve shared.
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Beautifully put. I only have one sibling, and we are not particularly close. Thinking of you as you relive your grief.
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I appreciate your thoughts, Sally. Grief does tend to resurge and be relived.
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How fortunate you are to have had such a wonderful older brother, and how sad for you that he is no longer with you,Thank you for introducing him to your blog readers. I am so sorry for your loss.
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I’m glad that you saw the worth of my brother in my words, Laurel. He was a good person who helped make my childhood happy.
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A beautiful, sad tribute. You are so right – when we’re young we expect that our parents will one day die before us, but never our siblings. You all have many happy memories of your brother – may they comfort you despite the sorrow.
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I just returned from a family reunion where stories of Lawrence were shared. Telling stories of our loved ones has long been a strategy my family uses for comfort and healing. Thank you for your kind words and wishes.
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Losing a much loved sibling is most like a chunk out of yourself. And what a beautiful tribute- long as someone knows they are loved, nothing else matters- imagine the joy when you meet again! I do.
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It did feel like losing a chunk of myself, Sheila. And I’m glad my brother knew I loved him, because, as you say, that’s what matters.
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Beautiful memories of your brother. I am very sorry for your loss.
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Thank you, Uta.
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Thank you for sharing this beautiful tribute, Janet, and acquainting us with your brother. It’s obvious that you have so much respect and love for him. I’m so honored I got to meet him in a way.
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I appreciate your comment so much, Tamara. I wanted to introduce Lawrence so my readers would feel they knew a bit about someone so important to me.
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How beautifully you express yourself Janet. Such sadness, and yet it is a gift for your writing. I’m glad that you can keep him with you. ❤
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Oh, Barbara, thank you for your kind words. I found it easy to express my feelings about my brother because he treated me in a way that made it easy to love him.
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Death of a sibling or a close friend does, indeed, shed a glaring light on our own mortality. Your description of your love and admiration for your brother brought tears to my eyes. Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you for feeling what I wanted to communicate about my brother, Troy.
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Oh gosh….I’m writing this and the tears are streaming down my cheeks and onto my computer key board……what a touching, beautiful expression of a sister’s love and dedication to one’s sibling….You skillfully create a “picture” to share with all of us and then skillfully take us down that emotional path with you…Thank you for sharing such a personal, intimate side of yourself, Janet……What an honor to have been his sister….. ❤
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Thank you Janet, I really treasure your perspectives.
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You are so welcome, Mary Ellen. I loved your dad so much; and I’m glad my words allowed you to see him, however briefly, through my eyes.
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I just caught up with your blog and somehow missed the column. Lawrence seemed bigger than life because he did everything first. For me he set most of the personal goals I hoped to achieve in life and then cheered me on when I achieved a few of them. His passing brought a lot of self reflection in the areas where I came up short of his example However it also took away some of the fear of that final step. Thanks for the heart felt column and the wonderful memories it brought back.
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I’m glad you enjoyed my tribute to our brother, Bob, and that it brought memories back to you. I always knew Lawrence influenced you and your goals. Most of my Lake Shore memories feature you and Lawrence together, having a good time even when he teased you. I’d say he did a good job encouraging you and cheering you on. I know he was proud of you. He was always kind to me, paying attention to me when I could have been lost in the melee of you, Carolyn, and Lawrence. We were lucky to have him.
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What a moving portrait and what a wonderful brother. Growing up with an elder sister I very much longed for a brother like him. A very much heartfelt piece. Thank you for sharing your memories with us!
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I’m glad you saw a wonderful brother in my words, Read on; that’s what I hoped this piece would achieve.
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Janet, each time I read your loving tribute to Lawrence I’m tearful, and think you must have shed tears as you wrote. The comments from your blog friends and family are so understandng of your loss and his special place in your life. I’m moved by their kindness.
“A Mother’s prayer is that her children continue to love and care for each other long after she’s gone.”
Your beautiful writing shows a prayer was answered.
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Oh, Mary, the mother’s prayer is wonderful. I’m going to remember it forever and use it when I feel it will be beneficial to others. Thank you for it and for your vast store of empathy.
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Lawrence sounds like a wonderful brother who lives on in the hearts of you and your siblings. Thank you so much for introducing him to us.
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