Curtis, my big brother.

June is a tough month; you've probably guessed that by now. John's dad on June 11, 2010; then, there's  Father's Day, my parent's anniversary (tomorrow would have been 67 years), and today...the day--fourteen years ago--I said goodbye to my big brother, Curtis. Each year is painful, and with my recent loss, it's become even more so.

This is a photo of my big brother and me; I'm guessing it's around 1962 or so. My first introduction to my brother was when I was just days-old. He held me in his arms as we went home from the hospital. Before you gasp, there were no rules about child seats in those days. I don't even know if there were child seats until quite a bit later.

This photo was probably taken sometime in mid-to-late 1960. Poor Curt. He seems to be merely tolerating me. I know that's not true, though we had our share of squabbles. But the three of us (both my brothers and I) loved/love each other fiercely, too.

Here's a photo taken probably near or on Christmas, 1966. I particularly love Curt's tie. Note the ceramic Christmas tree behind us. And I remember the dress I was wearing in this; it was red with a white Peter Pan collar. Todd would be just over a year old. Curt would have just turned 13. I was somewhere in the middle. 

This is Curt's senior picture. He graduated from Marshall High School in 1971.

I miss him and can't believe it's been so many years--nearly a lifetime--since I last saw and said goodbye to my big brother. I miss our talks. I miss how protective he was, to the point that I'm sure he chased a few potential dates I might have had away from sheer fear. 

He was a good man; he always fought for the underdog. He got me interested in beagles when he adopted his first one, Heidi, who later came to live with us. And you will soon see here that he was yet another superman in my life.

I miss his sense of humor. His teasing. His love of music--all kinds, actually--not just jazz. While he was in college, I went with him to a concert to hear Rudolph Serkin play Beethoven. We both sat in awe. He even later sang in a choir; years before, he had learned piano and clarinet and later regretted giving them up. 

He was an attorney, but not the kind people make jokes about--though he loved to collect the jokes and was greatly amused by them. He would help people--particularly senior citizens and kids--whether they had money or not. 

Someone once--in front of me--got mad at Curtis for teasing me so much. I stepped in and said, "Oh, that's okay. That's how he tells me he loves me."

Later, as the ravages of pancreatic cancer started to take him from us, he told me how proud he was of me and that he loved me. I told him the same thing. But it wasn't the first time--I knew he felt that way about me and words just underlined that knowledge.

About a day before Curt died,  he had some visitors from Indiana from when he lived there right after college, working as a juvenile probation officer (crisis intervention) before coming back to this area to go to law school. I was tired and was sitting on the couch out of Curt's view but in the same room. The morphine was starting to muddy his words a bit, but he still was making sense most of the time. Out of the blue, he said to his friends, "My sister. How I dearly love to tease her."

I know what he really meant. 

Curt, I dearly loved to tease you, too. 

Love, 

Your little sis