My Big Brother

I was sitting in front of the TV late on Wednesday night, January 30, (well, early Thursday morning), half watching an old Simpsons episode, half surfing the net on my laptop. It had been a couple of long days on the Island; an ice storm had crippled the power supply, and what started as annoying, sporadic blackouts turned into extended periods without power. But by late Wednesday night that seemed to be behind us, and I was able to catch up on both my TV watching and my blog reading.

My cell phone vibrated on my hip.  I glanced at the clock and winced.  (Remember when it was fun and exciting to get a phone call after 11:00 at night?)

I flipped my phone open.  It was a text message from my sister, Andrea.  "You still awake?"

I snapped off the TV, clicked over to MSN Chat and messaged her:  "What's up?"

"Bad news."

"Ah, shit," I groaned.  I'd just gotten back from three weeks of taking my Dad in for daily radiation treatments, and this was the call I'd been dreading.  Of course, the other possibility was that my Mom had slipped away - she's fairly fragile now.  Which one ...?

"Who?" I asked, bracing myself.

"It's Jay," said Andrea. My brow furrowed.

My brother had collapsed in his home office and they'd rushed him to hospital.  Andy was just waiting for a call from my sister Barb, who was at the hospital, so we could get an update on his status.

So I waited with her - chatting about inconsequential things, neither of us believing that anything serious was wrong with Jay.  After a few lines, she messaged:  "Sec.  Barb on phone." Sure, no prob.

Then:  "Fuck.  He died."

I stared at the screen, my jaw slack, trying to make some sense of those impossible words. 

"He died."?  Who died?  Jay?  OK, I knew full well that could not have happened.  So this was ... a typo?  A mistake of some sort?  If it was a joke, I was waiting for the funny that would cancel out the mean.

There was no funny.  No mistake.  No typo.

At age 57, my brother Jay died on Wednesday night, January 30, of a massive coronary.  It happened mercifully quickly - paramedics had done as much as possible to resuscitate him en route to the hospital, but the thinking is he was dead before he crashed to the floor.

No.  No no no no no.

The two of us, Andrea and I, sat a half a continent apart, gazing at our screens, unable to fathom what we were talking about, unable to take in the enormity of it all, the finality.  We couldn't comfort one another - the medium doesn't lend itself to that.  I shut down the computer, snatched up the phone and called.

But even that was empty.  We talked for a few minutes - not saying anything of substance, mired up to our axles in the awful truth we were experiencing.  We agreed to talk the next day.  "I love you,"  I said, my voice crumbling.

"I love you," she whispered, and was gone.

I sat there quietly in the warmth of my family room, embers in the woodstove glowing, a cat curled up at the far end of the couch, my mind alternately whirling, then slowing, engaging, then disconnecting.

Jay.  No.

The last time I saw Jay, he hugged me and said "So, there's this guy, and he's driving around in the WalMart parking lot, and it's 30 below and he can't find a parking space.  He circles and circles, but he knows he's going to have to park way at the far end of the lot and freeze his ass to get in the store.  So on his last pass, he closes his eyes and says, "God, all I want is a good parking spot.  Please, God.  If you get me a spot close to the store, I'll never ask you for anything again."  He hears a celestial choir, opens his eyes and there, right in front of the doors, a car is backing out.  The guy looks up to Heaven and says, "Oh, never mind.  Found one."

That was one of thousands of jokes Jay told me over the years.  Me, I'm a funny guy, sometimes, but I can't tell a joke joke.  I can't remember them, for one thing.  And if I do, I screw up the inflection or miss a detail and the best I can get is a nod and "Heh."

But Jay?  An inexhaustible supply of jokes, most of them unprintable or objectionable or inappropriate for any audience.  Which never, ever stopped him.

And you know what?  The boy could pull it off.  You may be sitting there thinking, "Oh, I'm sure he could tell a hideously offensive joke to some folks and get away with it, but I hate those kinds of jokes, and I don't think I'd enjoy being around a guy who tells them."

But you know what?  You would.

For my kids - in fact, for all the nieces and nephews - he was the "fun uncle".  He was an unmerciful tease (everything I know about teasing I learned from him), and he was the master of the straight face.

So here's a story Allison told just the other day:

"About two years ago, my family was discussing things in our house that we should get rid of, things that we have had forever but no longer need, or things that are so out of style that they should have been trashed years ago.

"Like the painting of Mom!" I said, laughing.

Mom and Dad looked at me curiously.

"What painting of Mom?" Dad asked.

"You know, the clown one?"

"Yeah, the sad clown on the wall upstairs...." Erin knew what I was talking about.

"Yeah, some painter guy painted a picture of Mom dressed as a clown...." I started to trail off, now unsure of myself.

"Uhm....who told you that?" Mom asked us.

"Uncle Jay!" We said together. But as soon as we said it, we realized.

What a bugger.

I think I'll miss him most. After all, I was his "favourite niece."

(Without meaning to burst her bubble  - and Allie knows this - at one time or another he took every kid in the family aside and whispered that he or she was his "favourite".  And they all believed him.)

When I was in grade six, I was a tiny, scrawny kid almost two years younger than the rest of the children in my grade. Because of my size, I was easy prey, so I was bullied and hounded every day by a couple of other guys from school.  They were bigger than me, and tougher (well, everybody was tougher than me), and every day as we'd go home for lunch they would follow behind me, tripping me up, pushing the books out of my hand, poking at me, making my life miserable.

I must have mentioned it in tears at the table, because one day I was walking home, and they were behind me, and as we got to the corner of our street one of them tripped me - and then Jay came leaping over the Friesen's hedge, grabbed my tormenter by the lapels, and lifted him bodily off the ground.

(The kid knew who was dangling him - Jay had a well-earned reputation as a fearsome street fighter, one of those guys who gets into a fight and people get badly hurt.)

He calmly explained to this terrified kid how this kind of thing was over, and that not only would these guys no longer bully me, but he was assigning them to be my bodyguards.  If any other kids bullied me, Jay would hold these two personally accountable, whether they were involved or not.  "Think of yourselves as the Secret Service," he said.  "And think of my brother as the President."

I was never bullied again - not in elementary school, not in junior high, not in high school.  I was Jay Ling's little brother, and you did NOT fuck with Jay Ling's little brother.

I had looked up to my brother Jay since ... well, forever. 

We weren't best friends - there was a four year age gap.  But we were shelter for one another.  With a pilot for a Dad, we often found ourselves left alone with only one another to counter the flood of estrogen from my Mom, my Granny, and four sisters.

We did this the only way boys know how:  we became expert and ruthless teasers and tormentors.  In this picture of our family after church on some long-ago Easter Sunday (note the bonnets), you can see that Barb is in tears; Mom and two of my sisters are looking on, concerned; Jay is grinning like a fool, and I am looking up at him worshipfully.   I'm willing to bet that he started whatever was going on.

Jay often got stuck with me as his tag-along.  Sometimes he resented it, and made my life miserable - one Hallowe'en my Mom dressed him as Zorro and me as his sidekick (whom Jay dubbed "Zero"), and instructed him to watch me all night despite his protests that I would slow him down and reduce his take from trick or treating.  His solution to the dilemma was to urge me on from house to house by poking and slashing at me with a sword fashioned from a curtain rod. 

But most often he tolerated my existence, and sometimes we'd have memorable afternoons on the vast Canadian prairie that surrounded the air force base we lived on.  We would go out into the fields to hunt gophers, for which the farmers paid us ten cents a tail as bounty.   (Which was enough to get you into the Saturday feature at the base theatre.)  (In case there was any doubt I am goddamn old.)

While the richer kids (or kids who came from families with fewer than six children) would hunt with BB guns, Jay and I would venture out with only a length of twine with a loop at one end.  We'd encircle a gopher hole with the loop, back away, lie down in the grass, and silently wait, the other end of this makeshift lasso wrapped around Jay's hand.  If I fidgetted, he'd quiet me with a glare.  Eventually, a gopher would stick its head out to see if the coast was clear, and BAM!

Now, walking around with a piece of string is one thing.  Walking around with a piece of string with a dead gopher on the other end is quite something else.  We'd parade around the neighbourhood with our trophy, letting the other boys admire it (or even, if they asked nicely enough, touch it); we'd swing it over our heads; and we would chase the girls out of the playground.  There are, we discovered, no end of things you can do with a dead gopher on a hot prairie summer afternoon.

Jay and I shared a room, which meant that for about ten hours a day he was Lord and Master of the Universe (at least, our Universe).  Mom and Dad had a rule that once lights were out, you stayed in your room.  Coming out to tattle on your brother for tormenting you was not considered an acceptable reason.  In fact, if you were out of your room after lights out, your pyjamas better be smouldering and the flames licking at your ass.  You don't end up with six kids by letting the first four or five wander around the house after dark.

So when the door closed, Jay became Boss of the World.  He would, of course, abuse the power - ordering me around, teasing me, practicing fighting moves -- just generally being mean.  There was no point ratting him out in the morning, because you knew later that night the lights would go out, the door would close, and through the darkness you'd see Jay's head lean out over the top bunk, peering down at you, deciding on the fate of the little snitch below.

By rights, Jay and I should never have been in the same school at the same time after Elementary.  But I was a superior student who skipped a couple of grades, and he ... um ... wasn't.  By high school, he was only 2 years ahead, blazing a unique trail, so that by the time I showed up in classes, the teachers would pause during the first attendance call.  "Ling, Nils," they'd say, then peer up overtop the clipboard.  "Would you be Jay's brother?"

"Yes," I would say.

"Uh-huh," they'd say, examining me more closely, perhaps jotting a note or two beside my name.  "Let's move you up to the front, shall we?"

But that wasn't the only trail he blazed.

My brother was a street-fighter and (unaccountably, to me) a ladies' man.   He was a "bad boy".  The girls adored him. 

So, brother of a tough guy and womanizer.  Much was expect of me in both regards.  And in both, I failed completely and utterly.

(I was -- well, hell, just look at me.  I was a nerd.  I am wearing a cardigan in this picture.  It was my favourite sweater.  I preferred pale blue denims, worn with a crease.  I was the kind of kid who couldn't take a drink of water at a school fountain because there would be someone like Jay walking past to smack me on the back of the head. Not exactly a chick magnet.)

There were, I admit, times when I bridled at being regarded as "Jay Ling's brother".  The bar was pretty damn high, and I was so unlike him in so many ways that it all felt unfair.   

It took him awhile, but Jay found his place in life.  He found a wife to settle him down (somewhat), and he had three sons that kept him busy.

As we grew older, our friendship grew stronger.  When I moved away, we'd keep in touch on the phone and when I'd go back to Winnipeg, I'd always find some time to grab a coffee or a bite to eat with him.  He'd always want to go somewhere with cute servers (and he knew all the places), and I would cringe and blush and apologize for him as he would banter with the woman bringing us our food and drinks.  (The last time we went out, our server, who was very attractive, wore a nametag which shortened her name (Billie Jean) into simply "B.J.".  God, for him, that was like shooting fish in a barrel.)

It's still incredible to me that he's gone.  I keep expecting a call from him, confessing that it's all a joke. 

When the people at the funeral home asked how many to expect at the service, we guessed that his friends would fill the 250 seat chapel.  At the end of the service, the Funeral Director came to me and said that not only was the chapel full, but also the auxiliary chapel and the reception room.  More than 400 showed up to pay their respects to my brother.  He'd have loved that.

He'd have loved the tune that Erin and Allison played: a tune Allison had  composed for him on her fiddle - a tune fittingly titled "Uncle Jay's Favourite".  He would have been proud of his sons and grandson as they  spoke eloquently and emotionally about what he meant to them.

I was asked to deliver the eulogy.  This is what I said:

This is going to be tough for me.  Which I know would amuse Jay greatly.  He loved to see me squirm.  Well, anyone, really.  But me in particular.

A eulogy feels inadequate for Jay.  I’m a skilled writer, but I can’t possibly squeeze the essence of a spirit that big onto a few pages.  Sum up Jay’s life in a few minutes?  Impossible.

So if I’m doing the impossible anyway … why stop at a few pages?  Winston Churchill once wrote, at the end of a long letter:  “I’m sorry this letter is so long.  Had I more time, it would have been shorter.”

So I don’t need a few pages, or even a few sentences to sum up Jay’s life.  I can do it in a word:

Joy.

Did you ever meet a guy who loved to laugh as much as Jay did?  I mean, I know he had his serious moments, we all do.  But damn, that man could enjoy a good laugh.

And did you ever meet a guy with so many jokes, right at the tip of his tongue?  Something for any occasion?  I mean, you’d be sitting around talking about – I don’t know, a nature series you saw with penguins – and Jay would start in:  “So, a penguin, a priest, and a Scotsman walk into a bar …”

(Actually, I just made that up.  But it does sound like a joke he’d tell, doesn’t it?  Probably not one I could repeat in mixed company.) 

He was relentless.  He wanted you to laugh, and he didn’t care how he’d do it.  He would tease – and man, he could hold a straight face – ask any of the kids.  Like Ashleigh – who is now married to our nephew Cole.

The first time Cole introduced Jay to Ashleigh at a wedding, he looked at her and said “Wait – you aren’t the one he introduced me to last week …?”

Well, Cole was able to fumble his way out of that.  So later Jay was on the dance floor with Ashleigh, and he said, “So you and Cole have been together a while?”  Oh, yes, she said, about six months.

“So I guess you know about his little secret, then,” said Jay.

“Secret?”

“Well, the cross-dressing thing.  I’m sure he’s told you about that.  No?  Oops.”

My wife Joyce will tell you about the first time she met Jay.  It was at my sister Kathy’s wedding.  I introduced them, and Jay asked her to dance.  As he led her around the dance floor, he leaned in and whispered, “I wish women had been created with three breasts – two in the front, and one in the back for dancing.”

Oh, he wasn’t done.  He leaned in and said, “Want to see me undo a bra with one hand, through clothing?” 

Joyce said, “Uh, no.”

Jay said, “Oh.  I guess I should do it back up, then.”   

I was always horrified by what he would say to women – whether he knew them or not – and always in awe of how he would get away with it.  I could never pull that kind of thing off. 

But Jay would say the most outrageous things, and just by the sheer force of his personal charm, he would walk away unscathed.  Well, until Marg got hold of him later. 

But it wasn’t just charm – I think when he said stuff like that to women, they wouldn’t feel threatened or insulted because he was this big, harmless, cuddly teddy bear of a guy who drew them right into the joke with him.

And he’d laugh at himself as hard as anyone.  He didn’t care if the joke was at his expense.  As long as people were laughing, that was OK with him.

We should all live our lives with such unbridled joy as Jay lived his.

When we look at our lives, or others’ lives, we often focus on what is not there – on what we haven’t achieved.  It’s unfair, of course, because life is so designed that all of us fail in so many ways.  Even the greatest baseball players who ever lived failed to hit the ball two-thirds of the time.  No fisherman walks away having cleaned out the lake.

Instead, let us judge ourselves on the quality of our character; on how much pleasure we can squeeze out of what life has dealt us; and on how much joy we create for the people we love. 

By that standard, is anyone here the equal of my brother?  I know that I will be a better person if I can achieve in my life a fraction of what he achieved in his.

As I go through this life, I know I will hear many, many more jokes.  And every time I hear a great joke, I will remember that Jay would have heard it first, and would have been the one who told it to me, and stood there with that goofy grin, waiting to see me laugh.

I want you to do that, too.  Every time someone tells you a great joke, I want you to hear Jay. 

Remember him that way.  Nothing would have given him greater joy. 

There will be a reception in the room outside, a chance for you to say something to Marg and the family, offer your respects and condolences. 

And yes, there will be tears, but I hope you’ll also tell them some way that Jay made you laugh. 

He loved to make people laugh. 

There.  I guess it’s not so hard to sum up a life in a few words, after all.

Comments

[Sandy]

My God.

I am so terribly sorry for your incredible loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.

[Carolyn]

Beautiful.

[Susie]

Oh, Nils. You might not be able to tell a joke, but you can damned sure tell a story. You had me laughing out loud through torrents of tears. I am so sorry for your loss. Your whole family, your parents -- goodgod, they're dealing with enough already. I could so imagine hanging out with Jay, through your remembrance of him. I don't know what to say. I have five brothers; I'm not even willing to imagine what that day will be like, getting the kind of news that you did. You're in my heart. "Thank you for sharing," is an over-used, often sarcastic statement, but it really is what I mean in this case.

[Bucky Four-Eyes]

The worst news I've ever had was the day I found out my oldest brother had died. But, damn, at least we knew he was sick. I can't even imagine the kind of shock you all must've gone through finding out about Jay.

Lots of love to you and your family...

[Gora_Kagaz]

your brother sounds like a wonderful person...sorry for your loss. and thank you so much for sharing.

[shari]

You are gifted, Nils. Your words, they are magic. Your loss, it is unbearable; and yet borne here with such perfect balance between the life Jay lived and joy he left behind.

2008 is shaping up as a difficult year for your family, and for that I am grievously sorry. Would that your magic words could find another path for you! But it is clear that your life and your love is grounded and certain; and that you and your sisters will bear this unbearable year with love, laughter and sweet memories of a fortunate childhood shared.

Wishing you peace... and joy, my friend.

[RzDrms]

well, i'm not sure at all how to attempt to comfort you or offer any sort of condolences, since, as you so eloquently said, this medium just doesn't lend itself to that. however, i will say that jay must've written this story when he was younger:
---
Little Jay's new baby brother was screaming up a storm. He asked his mom, "Where'd we get him?"

His mother replied, "He came from heaven, Jay."

Little Jay says, "WOW! I can see why they threw him out!"
---
i'm laughing out loud, through my tears for you and your family, since i know that's what jay would prefer.

[Schnozz]

I'm so terribly sorry. The depth of your loss is all the more clear now that I've gotten to know Jay. Thank you for that.

[squirl]

Nils, I'm so sorry. As I read your story I couldn't help but think of my own brother. I never minded being known as JD's little sister, though, as I was never expected to be like him. And, as Bucky said, he'd been sick, so there wasn't quite the shock.

I hope you are all getting by okay. I know that every single day will be different. It will be up and down. Thank goodness you knew and loved your brother and were on excellent terms with him. These things all help, even if it doesn't feel any easier right now.

My love and prayers are going to you and your family.

[Diane]

I too am sorry to hear of your loss. This was an outstanding post however on the depth of your love for your brother. You have an amazing skill as well...writing.

[kalki]

You share all these ridiculous photos of yourself in this post because you think no one will make fun of you during a time like this...but you are wrong, my friend. How can I NOT comment on those white pants?! They give a whole new meaning to tighty-whiteys. And the model-esque way you're jutting your knee is my favorite part.

I love you, Nilbo dude. Long live the spirit of your brother, through you and the others who knew him.

[opragal]

I am sitting here in tears, and then Kalki makes me laugh - because I couldn't help noticing those pegged pants and thinking just how many indie rock musicians nowadays would kill for those and those great shoes!

Nils you may me cry and laugh - rock on Jay, whereever you are.

[Nils]

Sandy, Carolyn, Susie, Bucky, Gora, Shari, Rz, Schnozz, Squirl, Diane, Kelly, Kalki ...

You are all wonderful, and I appreciate your support - of course, with the exception of Kalki, who, despite my obviously vulnerable state, felt compelled to heartlessly mock me for my fashion sense (which was, as Opragal pointed out, ahead of its time).

In fact, when that picture came up as part of the slide presentation at the funeral, there was considerable laughter in the room, most notably coming from the pew where my own damn family sat. I believe the verbatim quote from Erin and Allison at that moment would be: "Bwahahahaha!"

In my defense, the picture has aged to the point where what were pale blue denims appear white. As for the jutting knee (and I cannot believe I am going to confess this), in fact at that time I was modelling for newspaper ads for Sears and The Bay (Sadly, no underwear shots, but I do have a fine picture of me in pyjamas, which I will NOT share).

Rz - thank you. That is absolutely exactly the kind of joke that Jay would have told. One of our favourite family jokes came from an old ad for Johnson's Baby Shampoo - a young boy is watching his Mom bathe a baby and he says "Too bad you had to get a bald one."

A few of you have mentioned that I made you cry and laugh. That's pretty much what I was going for, because that's pretty much how the funeral went. It was - and is - sad to lose Jay. But I'll never lose what I have from him.

Over the past few days I've learned (once again) that life really DOES go on, as it should. When I heard of Jay's death, it felt like my world collapsed, but when I got back from Winnipeg to the Island, it was clear that it hadn't; what was expected of me before is still expected of me, problems I had are still here; and the good parts of my life are intact, too.

You people are part of that inventory of good things in my life.

[CircusKelli]

Ah, shit Nils... I am SO very sorry to read this. A very heartfelt post and lovely description of the kind of person your brother is.

The rest of your year MUST get better. Clearly, it couldn't get much worse.

Hugs to you, love. Thinking of you and your family.

[Allie]

CircusKelli: for the love of god, don't tempt fate!!!:)

[CircusKelli]

Sorry...

[Mrs. Ian Cusick Beaverhausen]

Holy Shit. HOLY. SHIT! His life was a gift...a tutorial on how to laugh through the everyday crappiness that can bog us down in life. He sounds like a remarkable man, Nils. And he'd have to be, no? I mean...he came from your family. I'm sorry for his too-early departure from this planet. We could sure use more like him.

[Lowa]

Ok, I KNEW something was wrong. I totally knew it:(

I am SO SORRY. WOW. I really don't know what to say. One of my first thoughts was how your parents can deal with losing a child. That has got to be the worst ever.

As you know, I lost my younger brother suddenly as well. I don't know which is worse. Knowing at any minute the call may come when a loved one is ill or frail or just BLAM! Out of nowhere finding out your bother is gone. Either way, know that I am praying for all of you and the pain will ease eventually. I am sure you are prepared for the roller coaster of emotions you will go through and the stages of grief.

Thanks for sharing so many of your memories with us. I feel like I knew him a little bit.

Hugs,
Laura

[mama of 4]

So sorry for your sudden loss. You have some great memories of your brother, thank-you for sharing some of them. I will be thinking of those stories next time my 4 year old son is in tears because of his 8 year old brother!

[platypus]

I am so dreadfully sorry and want you to know that Stumpy and I are thinking of you all. Your post was beautiful and was, I think, the best tribute anyone could give for a brother. Damn you for making me sniffle at work... but hugs too.

[NancyB]

I am so sorry to read about your brother's death. Your post was a wonderful tribute to him.

[kalki]

Holy shit, you were a model! And judging by the white (pale blue my ass) pants photo, it must have been for a line of horse jockey clothing.

[William]

Nilbo,
I am so so so sorry to read this. You have been in my thoughts since the new year and will continue to be.

Bill

[Nils]

Kalki: Your ass, pale blue? Odd. I imagine your ass would be pale white, as opposed to pale blue. Wait, let me imagine it some more ... yep, still coming up with white. I'll revisit that several times tonight to see if anything changes and keep you apprised.

And contrary to your jab about horse jockey clothing (as opposed to what, dog jockey or aardvark jockey?): In fact, I modelled the finest in "teen clothing" for Sears. It was great - I got to keep the clothes and got paid close to five bucks an hour for standing around.

Plus: pretty girls. The fact that they found me somewhat less attractive than bug spit was neither here nor there. I was hanging around pretty girls. Some of whom were modelling bras. Which presented me with something of a dilemma if you check out how tight the pants were being worn back then.

CK: Thanks for your kind wishes, and Allie is right. Bill Cosby once said "Never mock "Worse". If you think it can't get worse, you're laughing in the face of the gods, and they'll smite you just to pass the time."

Hot S: He WAS remarkable, and I wish everybody who comes to visit here could have met him.

Lowa: I knew you'd feel my pain as acutely as anyone. When the family was together, we talked about the relative merits (!) of knowing death is coming or of having it come as a surprise. I think the surprise is easier on the guest of honour and harder on those who survive, so in that sense I suppose it's a good thing. And who wouldn't want to choose going like *SNAP* that as opposed to dying by inches?

Mama of 4: there were times growing up when I swore I hated my brother - usually it was over some form of kid's stuff argument. In the end, we were very close - as your sons will no doubt be.

Platy: thanks to you and the Stumpster. I can feel you two with me.

NancyB: Thank you so much.

Kalki: Imagining again. Nope ... still a pale white. But thanks for the diversion. What a lovely way to spend a day.

[Nils]

William: Thank you. I know you have endured your own share of personal tragedy in the past couple of months, and your grace under that strain inspired me.

[Deneen]

I am so sorry for the loss of your brother. How sweet it is though that the pain of loss is accompanied by a smile for what he was while he was here.

[Island Redhead]

De-lurking here...Sincere sympathy in the loss of someone who was, obviously, so very special. I, too, grew up on an airbase outside of Winnipeg, only in my case it was west of Winnipeg in the late seventies. There is a closeness between all siblings, but the connectedness between military siblings seems to be extra-special.

[Craig Willson]

Nils, I have started this three times - others have been so eloquent in responding. This crazy journey offers us some incredible highs and astonishing lows. All serve to make up the rich mixture of who we are. For me, sadness comes when I think of good times, that cannot be again. Then, I will find a way to realize how fortunate I was to have had the good times.

As I read (and re-read) your comments it is obvious that you already have grasped that. The treasure that is your brother is one that you clearly understand and I suspect you were both acutely aware of that.

You commented that you were a skilled writer. You are and you are also a gifted writer. By allowing us into this personal moment in the fashion that you have, honours your brother and all that was so important between the two of you.

Chris and I are thinking of you.

(I had a pair of white pants just like those - but of course, I looked much better in them than you did)

[Laura]

I'm still trying to get over that pic of you two in the cardigans and jeans.
I don't think I've ever had a bigger shit-eating grin on my face then when I saw that one, LOL. That takes guts, my friend, and that's something both of you probably shared.
Hang in there... I think he'd have gotten a kick out of this entire post.

[Nils]

Island Redhead: I was born in PlP ... close? Heehee. And yes, Military sibs seem to grow up connected both by the constant moving around (and resultant isolation) and also the challenge of military fathers.

Bub: Thanks - you and Chris are kind and sweet. But there is NO chance you rocked those jeans like I did.

Laura: I could see your familiar grin with every picture I posted. And as much as those pictures made us look silly ... I am certain Jay would have laughed harder than anyone.

[Shawnte]

So sorry for your loss...my love to you and the family. I'm sure Jay would be happy that you all remember him with such joy and laughter.

[Robert Paterson]

Hey Nils
Big hug from me
Rob

[Dagny]

I am so sorry to hear about the loss of your brother. Thank you for sharing your memories....may those sustain you through this touch time.

dag

[kalki]

I should be nicer to you, Nils. Maybe, through you, I can find the softer side....of Sears.

[Nils]

(Imagining)

Nope. Still pale white.

[Just Some Girl in Ohio]

Your post makes me wish again that I was closer to my brothers. I am so sorry for your loss. I would check your blog every few days, and when there was nothing, would worry about your father. I was speechless as I sat and read of Jay's passing. I'm glad you were close, and I hope my children end up closer than I am to my own brothers. Hang in there Nils.

[Dagny]

I tried posting earlier today but the post keeps vanishing

I so deeply sorry for you loss. Thank you for sharing such great memories and may the sustain you for years.

dag

[dagny]

sorry for the typos..new keyboard, cold tired fingers...

[cat]

I am so sorry for your loss, Nils. I am so sorry I don't check in enough, too. I wish I could have offered words of sympathy earlier. Just... sorry. My thoughts are with you and your famdamily.

[von Krankipantzen]

I've come back to this post a few times over the last couple days and simply cannot figure out how to convey my condolences for the complete, for lack of a better word, suckiness of your news. It just SUCKS! I'm so sorry.

Reading your stories about your brother and your relationship with him has made me (and everybody else) smile. He sounds like he is (I don't like using 'was' as I don't think one's effect on this world ends with death) a great guy.

[Jean]

Dave and I send along our deepest sympathies to you and your family. Having lost my oldest brother at the age of 43, also to a heart attack, I feel your loss.
From reading your memories of growing up with Jay, I have the impression that he lived and left this life on his own terms. Although you were the brother who became the entertainer and story teller, I expect you learned the trade at the feet of the master.

[Tess]

Nils, I'm so sorry to hear about your brother, Jay. I lost a sister in 1990 to suicide so I know what it's like to get that unexpected phone call in the middle of the night. You wrote a wonderful tribute to him, and I wish you any small amount of comfort you can find in dealing with your loss. It sounds like the world lost a good one...

[Catherine Ann]

"When we look at our lives, or others’ lives, we often focus on what is not there – on what we haven’t achieved. It’s unfair, of course, because life is so designed that all of us fail in so many ways. Even the greatest baseball players who ever lived failed to hit the ball two-thirds of the time. No fisherman walks away having cleaned out the lake.

Instead, let us judge ourselves on the quality of our character; on how much pleasure we can squeeze out of what life has dealt us; and on how much joy we create for the people we love. "

Beautiful. And what a glorious one word summation "Joy"

*Hugs*