Over the years, I have written some stories about those who have passed in my life. Most recently, it was my brother, Larry. He passed on a Wednesday night. I started to write this on Sunday, but life took in a whirlwind of activity and pain following my brother’s passing.
Larry! Where are you? I miss you, buddy! I miss you!
We had been together earlier in the day. And that was the last time anyone had communication. As we did each week, I gave him transportation to medical appointments and shopping. We hung out together doing his errands and talking about kids, grandkids, and family. He shared that he was looking forward to feeling better so he could visit a couple of childhood friends.
That night, he passed in his sleep.
Years ago, I was at a funeral, and the priest shared that “death was never timely or convenient.”
How true that it is. I knew my brother was suffering and that he was awaiting some further tests and procedures. I certainly didn’t think he would die, not long after we were together.
As I revisited that day, I was glad that I had hugged him and told him I loved him—it was kind of our thing.
My grandson wrote me, “I am going to miss him.” Me, too, buddy, me too.
When Larry had cancer a number of years ago, he came to live with Tina and me. What was supposed to be a month or so turned into three plus years of living with us.
Funny how his passing has brought up so many memories.
My first real memory was Larry banging his head at night. Turned out, he had ear issues. We bunked in the same room. His banging head broke the headboard. From that point on, Larry fought lots of illnesses and ended up with over 25 ear operations that I was aware of.
Like any siblings, we fought. We rough-housed. But God forbid if you went to beat on my little brother. (Years later, as our parents added to our tribe, we were a lot like the Hanson Brothers in Slapshot.) When we 4 or 5 we had an obnoxious kid named Chuckie. He jumped Larry during a snowstorm. I saw him and pounded him, burying him in the snow.
His mother came over to “whine,” and I got the razor strap treatment. When Larry moved in here, one night he told me, “Sorry, you got all the beatings.” That one with Chuckie was worth it. 😊
Friday night theater
When we were children, our dad built us a tree house. Large sheets of plywood wrapped around the large willow tree on the Farm River in our backyard. While it had a later, it also had a rope swing. We loved the river—muskrats, mink, crawdads, fish, frogs, snakes…and ducks. We had ducks. A neighbor’s ducks, but ducks. A local firefighter in the community, his ducks would come out on the river to float around with the wild ducks.
Apparently, catching frogs, crawdads, and such had lost their appeal that day.
“Larry, let’s catch some ducks.”
Okay, let’s go. And we did.
While he lived here, going through treatments, yelling at New England teams, or studying, we became closer than ever before.
Some of my memories include, but are in no way limited to…
- Hanging out with the neighborhood kids. Over the summer, he began to organize a get-together with some of them. He was giving back in his own way.
- Music-As I worked through the boxes, there were the Grateful Dead, Johnny Winter, and more. Despite his hearing issues, he loved concerts and live music.
- His first job was working for a dry cleaner. (“I love folding those clothes.”) Really, Larry? (Let me tell you, when we got his house, everything was clean, neat, and folded. 🙂 )
- The great outdoors. Whether he was taking a walk, taking pictures, or just watching the birds at the feeders he set up.
- Hockey, whether it was pond hockey, high school, or scrimmaging. As kids, we played lots of sports. Football, baseball, and Jarts in the backyard. Pond hockey until they built a rink. And while we all played hockey, Larry excelled. In later years, our yard was dedicated to motorcycles and cars, and more than once, red and blue lights were at our home or while we cruised the streets.
- The Adirondacks — After Larry moved in with us, we took him to the Adirondacks. To places from our childhood. Indian Lake, Schroon Lake, Stone Bridge Caves, and more. He worked in the Keene Valley in the summer. Add boating, waterskiing, canoeing, and hiking. He did it all.
Before Larry moved to NH, he was a contractor and fine woodworker. But because of injuries and poor health, he changed directions.
Larry at the YMCA
His passion and heart over the past few years have been for family and the kids. And for him, kids were the big thing in his life. He pursued the degree he did not get when he was younger. Early Childhood Education. He got a job (YMCA Keene) where he worked for five plus years until he got injured last winter.
And in his small community, he took the time for others. Just hearing so many people tell us, he was a sweet man. A kind man. He was willing to help others. Listening to the stories of a man making a difference.
The day he passed, he had made tiramisu and had given some to a young neighbor.
Today, I hand over the keys to Larry’s place—an end to one part of his life and the beginning of a new one.
The best thing we can do to preserve his life and his memory is to embrace others and make a difference where we live.
I won’t watch a football or hockey game without hearing Larry’s yelling. Or get in my car and think about the thousands of rides we took together over the past years. Go to Lake George and not think about our times in the mountains. Look at a baked good without being reminded of what you baked on a given day. Oh, there are so many more, but there is a moist covering on my eyes.
Buddy, I love you! You made me a better person till we meet again.
Larry, Liz, and Lee
