40 years ago today, my life changed forever.
My 23 year old younger brother, and only sibling, died unexpectedly in a scuba diving adventure gone wrong. Probably a cold-induced cardiac arrhythmia. He was going to do some underwater photography under the ice of one of the many lakes in western upstate New York.
I was at work, in the pediatric clinic of the small base hospital on Yokota Air Base west of Tokyo. I had only been there about 3 weeks. I got a call from the Red Cross. I went back to NY for about 10 days, and then returned to Japan. The military community is typically quite supportive in times of difficulty, and that was certainly true for this devastating experience. Nonetheless, it was a very difficult time, because, although people could relate abstractly to the loss of a sibling, no one there had known my brother, so I could not share memories with anyone. Essentially, I had to grieve by myself. I did not realize, for a very long time afterward, years and years, how atypical that was. Most commonly, one has family and long term friends around to lean on.
I have found, as the years go by, that this early loss of my brother almost negates my early childhood in a strange way, as I have no one to share childhood memories with. Sometimes it almost feels as if I imagined him. I refer to it as a biological loneliness.
He had no children. I'm not an aunt. We didn't live near any relatives - neither of my parents, nor any of their siblings had stayed in their home towns - aunts, uncles and cousins lived in Maryland, Virginia, Minnesota, and Arizona. We saw each other, at best, once a year. It wasn't until moving to the greater Chicago area in 1994 that I was around people with large extended families that are conveniently nearby. I envy that.
My soon-to-be 96 year old mom is still here, and sharp as a tack. We live 12 hours apart. I hope she makes it to 100.
One of the things that you discover when you lose a sibling is what a large club you have become a member of. It's not something people talk about a lot, and it's a silent injury in many ways, because you don't walk around with a visible scar on your face, or a cast, or a crutch, so people don't know you are not the same person you used to be.
Please know that I'm not discussing this here tonight out of a need for pity or consolation. I'm not an unhappy person, and there has been much in life that has been and still is joyful. It just somehow seemed right to acknowledge the 40 year mark of the loss of my beloved brother, Tom. I still miss him.
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Their birthdays are only 3 days apart (plus two years) and they are, at 19 and 21, each other's best friends. They share an apartment in Denver. I would be destroyed if anything ever happened to either of them, but I know that it would probably affect the other one even more. I don't dwell on that, but I would be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind in those dark moments when such thoughts invade my mind.
Catwoman, I am so sorry for your loss. I know that even forty years later it still tugs at your heart. (I was 16 when my mom died of cancer 38 years ago.) Thank you for sharing your story, and I will be sending thoughts of love and strength your way today.
Siblings are special, we say they’re the ones who best understand where you came from.
I’m so sorry you lost your brother 
Catwoman!
I'm so sorry that you lost your brother. Biological loneliness is a very good way to describe your feelings.
Thank you for telling us your story, and about Tom. It brings him to life.
...difficult, he was so young...yet, doing what he enjoyed, living everyday to the fullest. I'm reminded of things that I enjoy, yet keep putting off, things to complete my bucket list, maybe take that trip to Spain, Portugal, and Moracco before travelling gets to difficult. Maybe I'll start with unplugging the toxicity of the occupant in the white house, and the wretched gop, for now thats at the top of my list--to take care of myself. We often care for others that we need to stop..if only for a time and care for our well being.
Also, how blessed you are to have your mother near you. Take care. Paz
and all he still means to you.
And here's to your 96 year old mother.
I never had a sister or brother growing up, so what happened to you is a new thought to me. My husband is also an only child. Although that didn't cause losses we could feel, we both specifically wanted to give our children each other and never considered having only one.
I lost a brother in 1985...he was 13, I was 16...he was hiking with his church group and fell off a cliff...
Loss like that is hard at any age for sure...
Ty for sharing your story, my thoughts are with you
The years keep speeding by but our love and loyalty never falters.
My heart is with you. I'm welling up a little as I type. One of my brothers passed away two days before his 53rd birthday.
I was stunned when I heard the news because he wasn't the oldest. I kept repeating his name as a question, expecting my other brother who called to tell me to say, "No, I meant Dad." (They had the same name and my father was suffering with Alzheimer's, so that would not have been such a shock.)
Days later, at the funeral home, I and the same older brother who called with the news were sharing a quiet moment. My brother was talking about things in that way when you need to sort them through. At one point he said, "I lost a brother and a job in the same week."
Hearing those words from him, "I lost a brother", really struck me. I realized that our brother's death effected him in a different way. As the only girl, I imagine that the lost of a sister would have touched me differently than it would have the boys in the family.
This is not to diminish your particular lost, 3catwoman3. As you pointed out, you and you brother only had each other to play out the sibling experience of sharing, fighting, having fun, and complaining about your parents. 
I have often joked that the worst part about being an only child must be not having someone to complain about your parents with.
To those who point out adult sibling estrangments, my heart is heavy with your feelings as well. There were five of us. The four boys and then me--the youngest and long awaited girl. I could do an entire thesis on gender issues here, but that's not my point right now.
We were definitely dysfunctional in that we were the family that the neighbors called the cops on. Sadly, unlike some siblings in troubled homes, we didn't bond to support each other.
The one brother, the third boy, is gone. The oldest brother is a user/sociopath. The remaining two brothers are estranged and non-communicado. Each one has some legitmate points, and -- as it always is in these situations-- each one believes that the other is the problem.
Reading the OP with its tender reverence for a shared childhood, it breaks my heart anew that my brothers don't have each other.
Sometimes I think that I would give anything to see them healed, both in themselves and in their relationship.
You are healed, 3catwoman3, because there is beauty and respect in your loss. You will ache from time to time, and you can feel the scar tissue on your soul. But, essentially, you are whole, because your brother is there in your heart. A part of him lives on in you. He would rather have that, than knowing that a part of you had died with him.
It's sad that you didn't have anyone to share childhood memories with when you first experienced this lost, but it's not too late.
Tell Tom's stories now. Your childhood is not lost if you tell the stories. We will listen to them, here, of course. But once you start writing them down, you may find that they can be shared to heal other hearts as well.
It doesn't matter if the stories aren't earth-shakingly dramatic. Simple tales are profound in their own way.
Please consider this. And thank you again. Goddess bless Tom, wherever he is, whatever he may have become. I'm sort of kidding when I write that because I believe in rationalism. But I'm sort of not kidding, because I believe that "magic" lives in our spirits and our connection to the Universe--including our connection to one another.
I often joke with my BFF that she and her twin brother have known each other for even longer than their mother has known them. We also speculated that people who shared a womb might have a different perspective on the idea of God, because they have never really been alone in the universe. (That probably sounds like a weird thought; I guess you had to be there. )
