My oldest brother, Ross (or Rossie as I called him when I was a kid), is ten years older that I am. My "youngest" brother, Gary, is seven years older than me. And the brother I never knew about was born sometime between Gary and me, but only lived for three short days.
His name was Randy.
I realized I had a brother named Randy when, as a young girl, I accidentally found his birth certificate hidden in my mom's cedar chest. I never told anyone about my secret discovery until I was in my teens. No one ever talked about him and I was afraid to ask. In time, I learned about "the twins" and how my mother had given birth to a very premature boy who lived a couple of days and a stillborn girl. The boy was my mystery brother, Randy, whose birth certificate I found as child. That is about all I know of him, except that later in life, it became my mom's mission to put a headstone on the unmarked grave of "the twins" in the children's area of the cemetery.
I still have his hospital certificate.
Coincidentally, my sister's husband was also named Randy - which means I still do have a brother named Randy. And I am glad that even though I didn't know the original Randy, I did get to know my brother-in-law. He was my sister's faithful companion during her battle with cancer and always treated me as his little sister. His house is always open for us to stay when we visit my home town. We go to church together, have breakfast together, and reminisce as we go through old family photos. He tends to my parents' cemetery plots like they were his own parents.
It is nice to have a third brother again.
Randy is the father to two of my nephews and one of my nieces. He drove to Colorado from Wisconsin for my daughter's college graduation and sat outside in the pouring rain to watch her commencement ceremony. He approved her future husband, before we even realized that he would be her husband. He celebrated her January marriage as he made the trek to Colorado with the rest of my brothers. Randy is as much a part of the family as any blood relative.
Life has a funny way of coming full circle.
My oldest brother Ross lives on a lake in northern Wisconsin with his lovely wife, Lillian. The two met and married when Ross was in his early forties. (We were all pretty sure he was a confirmed bachelor - little did we know he would meet his future wife square dancing!) Because of Lillian, he became an instant father to two grown daughters, Grandpa to more kids than I can count, and Great-Grandpa several times over.
And he could not be happier or prouder.
I remember, as a little girl, my brother Ross seemed so much older than me. He was an adult. I was a kid. When he graduated high school I was in second grade. I remember seeing him leave for his first day at the local tech school and putting up with my mom's need to take a first day of school picture. He was the first in our family to get a post-high school education, move out of the house and find a place of his own. He seemed so grown-up.
But then, a funny thing happened.
As we got older, the age gap didn't seem so big. I was in college and he was still in his late twenties. I remember him visiting me the summer after my Junior year. We went out to a local bar, drank beer, ate popcorn, ordered pizza and hung out with some of my friends. Instead of feeling awkward like I was anticipating; I had fun. We were equals. That was when we became not just brother and kid sister, but friends.
He is the only person to call our daughter Katie and I love him for that.
My "baby" brother Gary was close enough in age that his friends were the older brothers to some of my neighborhood playmates. I wonder if he remembers the carnival we put on with the kids down the street? It was a big deal to me at the time. In fact, whenever I got to hang out with him, it was important to me. I remember him taking me via the local bus to the county fair when I was around nine or so. He was meeting up with a friend and they helped me win a stuffed animal. I was so excited - not just that he helped me win something, but that he treated me as a friend.
Gary was a bit of a wild child as a teen.
He would hitch hike to the next town over and always ended up at our Aunt June and Uncle Rusty's house, where he would spend the night. At sixteen he brought a puppy home and somehow talked our mom into letting us keep her. As a young man, he had an eclectic taste in music. He listened to heavy metal and current rock, but also to "Rindercella" by Archie Campbell of Hee Haw.
My brother was married at the tender age of twenty-one.
And I was a bridesmaid at his wedding. I was fourteen and felt like an adult in my hot pink chiffon dress and matching hot pink veil. Everyone else standing up was either an older relative or a friend of his or his wife, Sue. They danced with me, laughed with me, and let me hang out with the wedding party all night. They all treated me like one of the gang and I ate it up!
As I grow older, I am thankful every day for each one of my brothers.
They have taught me lessons in family and love. They have all experienced personal rough spots but managed to pull through with dignity and grace. They demonstrate perseverance in the face of difficulty. They put family front and center in their lives. They live lives of faith. And they each are so happy when we get together - even if it is just for a few minutes, a few times a year.
Brothers are not always blood relatives. Sometimes they are not related to you at all. But, they are still family. No matter how you first met, you recognize your brother. He is that person you feel close to, respect, and love. It doesn't matter who your parents were.
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