When I was growing up, the signature of our family was its awesome size. … Especially because we were not Catholic!
I was the youngest child of the nine my parents had, and the eight of us youngest all survived into adulthood. All my childhood, until I was in high school, I was readily surrounded by siblings.
In addition, all of the time back then, we were surrounded by grandparents nearby. And, in fact, a set lived right across the gravel street from our home. No more than 100 feet away. There were also uncles and aunts and cousins everywhere.
And later, as I grew up, there were copious numbers of nieces and nephews as my seven older siblings’ families began to grow. It was a rare year in the Brooks clan that someone somewhere wasn’t having a baby.
As a matter of fact, in recent years, as the baby boom continued, our immediate family topped more than 100 people, all direct descendants of our still-living mother, Gma Lois.
Growing up Brooks was special. The sheer size of our family meant that there were always others welcomed into the fold as well. Frankly, when you have that many kids, what’s another couple of stragglers following the Brooks kids home. … Pull up a seat; get em’ plate; you’re now family.
We didn’t have money. Our family wasn’t local royalty. But we were big, we were close-knit, we were loyal, and we loved. That was growing up Brooks. And it meant something in our hometown.
Then, we all grew older, of course. Many of us moved away from our ol’ hometown. The cherished family home place was torn down in the 1980s. Even the high school eventually succumbed to a modern version of what schools look like nowadays not that long ago. Main Street isn’t what it was. Jobs aren’t as plentiful. Much has changed.
But for the Brooks family, the close bond we all shared transcended geography, and we all stayed present in each others’ lives. Every life milestone was celebrated, even if it was only by phone calls, snail mail … or more recently via Facebook, for us geezers.
There was even the one major family reunion we were able to pull off for our mother’s 80th birthday party. And what a day that was. The nearby daily newspaper even covered the story. Mom was in her glory surrounded by her loved ones. Dozens and dozens of them.
Us kids … all eight of us, took a photo with Mom on some park equipment, and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her happier than that day! What a glorious memory!
But time catches up with all of us, doesn’t it?
In 2019, the armor of being Brooks was pierced when our sister Deb announced that her husband Dave, just 63, had terminal cancer, and he passed away within just days of the diagnosis.
It was the first reminder that even being Brooks didn’t mean we could escape the finality of this world.
I remember the 13-hour road trip back from that visit to our sister’s for the funeral. I kept thinking to myself that something in our world had been fundamentally altered. One of the mighty Brooks 8-sibling generation had passed into the by and by. Even if it was our brother-in-law. … I just couldn’t imagine a world without Dave in it.
I guess I had just believed that given how special it was to be in the Brooks family, we were somehow immune to the mortal problem of death.
I was wrong. One of the truisms I grew up with was busted. Things have felt different ever since.
A mere 13 months later, our oldest brother Dan, the patriarch of our family for the past 40 years, also passed. Also way too early and in his prime. Just 66 years old. The blow was heavy and shook all of us siblings who’d spent six and a half decades in a world in which there were eight of us.
And then, all of sudden, there were only seven.
Dan was the True North, and now we all felt a little adrift.
Just two years later, another cancer diagnosis: This time our Mom, Gma Lois.
She battled for 18 months before losing her fight at the age of 83. And just two and a half years after Dan, we found ourselves mourning the loss of our matriarch, the woman who was the epicenter of our family for seven decades.
We found ourselves reeling. What would we do without the center of our family? The hub. The one whose infinite sacrifices made it possible that we’d all had better lives than she did.
Now, only 15 months afterward, we were all still trying to figure out how to replace Mom at the center of our family wheel. But there was a thought that maybe our rough run was over for a while. Maybe we’d have some time to pick up the broken pieces and slowly glue them back together.
The universe had other plans.
About a month ago, our brother Drew, only 62, was diagnosed with liver failure. … None of us could believe the news; how could this all be happening yet again? … A fourth time in five short years?
Drew passed early Wednesday morning. … And I just can’t seem to shake the awful feeling that the once gigantic world I once knew defined by our incomparable gigantic family is getting ever smaller.
Talk about your existential struggles. … How do you continue to reframe your worldview when the world keeps greedily stealing away what makes it your worldview?
Drew was the third youngest Brooks sibling, 12 years older than I was. But he was one of the three kids left at home when I was very young. Which meant that he helped raise me and Dustan, the other younger brother. We were the last sibling set to be at home together, which gives us a different relationship from all the other siblings.
But then again, he was 12 years older than me, and so by the time I was in elementary school, Drew had left the house for the big ol’ world.
It would take years for us to become close again. As I was finishing school, he was busy trying to find his way in the world. By the time I was raising my own family and chasing a career, he was busy working his butt off in the autobody industry. And there were precious few times we were together for a long time.
But that all changed in 2007, when as a single dad I moved back into the region I grew up. Drew’s family and I were only an hour away, and he had two boys and I had two boys, and only six years separated them all. For the next five years we would gather often for holidays. Many times for days at a time where the boys would play for days on end, and so would the adults.
It was a time that brought Drew and I close again, and for the first time since we were kids, we were regularly back in each others’ lives. I will cherish those years for the rest of my life.
Drew and I didn’t have the same life. He lived life at full tilt; I have done so more cautiously. But under the personality differences there was still a basic agreement that everyone deserves love, if you can help someone you should, and family was not defined by genetics.
Drew was a shooting star. A rare phenomena of a person whom everyone gravitated to. And he could make friends with anyone. He possessed a singular power to reach through someone’s bullshit and find their true self.
And you couldn’t not like the guy for it. Because within minutes of knowing him, you’d figure out that Drew was unapologetically himself, rough edges and all. Which meant that in a world where genuineness is rare, he was a diamond.
Drew personified the best of what it meant to be Brooks. He wrangled so many stray cats, and brought them home as “family,” that our idea of what “cousins” actually meant would be warped forever.
He single-handedly exponentially expanded our familial universe. Because, as long as you were real, you treated kids well and liked his dog … well, then you were alright in my brother’s book.
The world is dimmer today. My world continues to grow smaller. … Turns out that while being raised a Brooks is still special, it doesn’t make us invincible. And all the truths of my youth seem busted.
Rest easy brother! Give Mom, Dan and Dave big hugs and clear the way for the rest of us. I can’t wait for the reunion party you inevitably have planned.
Love, your Little Brother.
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