Picturing a Gentle Soul

Picturing a gentle soul

It showed up on Facebook, that picture of me and my brother, Chris. A family member had posted it. I had never seen it before. Yet, I was told I’d taken it. It was taken soon after our mother died. Now, he too is gone. His life stolen by an impaired driver as he was driving home from work.

The photo was both a comfort and a stab in the heart. In it he’s smiling despite the grief he carried. I remember that day, but not the photo. He was going through a separation from his wife of eight years, amplifying his heartache. You can’t tell from the photo, his smile disguising his sadness.

 They were both so young when they married. He was eighteen and she a mere sixteen. Neither had much experience of life. But that didn’t matter, my brother was crushed and feeling like a failure. In truth they never had a lot in common. She had one sister compared to our very large, very close family. In contrast, his wife did not get on well with her one and only sibling. Ultimately the lack of things in common spelled the end of their marriage.

We came from a family of nine children. I was number seven while Chris was the youngest. Together with my sister we were known as the ‘three little ones’. We were constant playmates. Growing up in a rural community there weren’t many homes close by and few playmates so we lived life in one another’s pockets, so to speak. Always together, even into our teens and beyond.

 After Chris died, we all felt the loss keenly, especially me and my sister. I likened it to a three-legged stool with one of the legs broken off. We were off balance for a long while afterward. I don’t have many photos of myself when I was little, most of my childhood photos include the three of us.

His death issued forth a tsunami of emotions with grief filling the starring role, of course.

Chris was such a generous soul, always willing to share what he had, whether that was candy or giving up his turn at whatever game we were playing so my sister or I could have an extra go. As brothers go, he was pretty outstanding. Long after we were grown, I could count on him for any favour, big or small. He had such a big heart. And it wasn’t only family he was generous with. His many friends and coworkers attested to his kindnesses at his funeral service.

Looking at the photo my memories ricochet from early days to his last. By then I had moved across the country with my husband and my only contact with my brother was infrequent phone calls. He had two teen-aged children while mine were adults, both our lives were busy. Added to the difficulty was the difference in time zones and my part-time job that meant my hours were varied. It was one of the things I punished myself with often. I still wish I had called more often.

Chris was a tough little guy and small for his age. When he was around five years old, he fell out of the car on our way home from picking up the mail. Dad was slowing down to pick someone up. In those days seat belts were not yet mandatory and safety seats for children not yet heard of. He had opened the door too soon, falling under the rear wheel of the car. Dad panicked and hurriedly picked him up, cradling him in his arms he headed for home, a short distance away. Chris didn’t even cry, instead he kept saying, “Don’t cry, Daddy, I’m okay.” Then he would turn to my sister and I in the back seat and repeat, “don’t cry” over and over until we reached the house. I don’t remember how long he spent in hospital. It seemed like a long time, but I was a child myself and time seems endless when you’re little and missing someone. I do remember the day I came home from school and Chris jumping out of his hiding place to surprise us. What a nice surprise that was!

Chris was the king of bad jokes, the absolute worst groaners and puns. He could tell one after another for hours at a time and often did! It was getting late at night. He was sixteen and I was nineteen. It was just we two at home and after killing time watching television, Chris began telling jokes. I was so tired and wanted only to go to bed I was literally begging him to stop until he finally took mercy on me. His eyes were still twinkling.

Chris was also fiercely protective of us. We were at school it was winter and we were outside for recess when a boy much bigger than my brother tried putting snow down the back of my neck. Chris came charging across the playground, jumped on the kid’s back, pummeling him and yelling, “You leave my sister alone.” Thankfully the other boy was a gentle giant and not given to fighting. He gave me a wide berth after that.

You would think being the youngest of such a large crowd would mean Chris was spoiled. He wasn’t, even though any one of us would give anything he asked for he was not one to take advantage, and he seldom asked for much. He was deeply appreciative of anything he was given.

Chris was far from a saint, like all of us he had his quirks and flaws. He could hold a grudge for a very long time, but he was also kind, loyal, generous to a fault and a wonderful and loyal friend. He was the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.

It’s said that a picture is worth a thousand words. This is my thousand. And it doesn’t come close to describing the gentle spirit with a heart of gold that was my brother.