Remembering a beloved brother

I often remember my departed family members' birthday anniversary by doing something for others. This year, I didn’t plan anything for my late brother Bob’s special day, but I still remember him and miss him.

He was several years older than me. I had the advantage of growing up with him being my older brother and being raised in the same age category as his children. Somewhere in our lives, we came together as adult siblings.

Apparently, he was excited when the family planned for my arrival. He had shared our parents with his younger brother Leon for almost nine years when Leon passed. My parents always had delivered boys before me, so everyone expected I’d be another son. They were so certain when my dad bought a new truck he had a space left behind Horton and Son for an “S.” Boy, did I surprise them!

My brother adjusted well to a sister arriving instead of a brother. While I don’t remember many of the tales I’ve heard, apparently my first day home from the hospital, he brought me my first doll safely tucked into his FFA jacket. I arrived in April and a few months later I was the proud owner of a tricycle, which, according to my parents, I never learned to ride. It came complete with an older brother who would pull me around on the shiny new cycle faster than I could pedal.

Apparently, I believed the good Lord provided him to fill my every wish. He loved caring for animals and often did his best to rescue them. I’ve been told I was not only jealous of the animals, but mean to them to get my brother’s attention.

I didn’t have the usual social network one has with an older sibling’s friends since my brother left for college before I started to school. Many years later, when we were both adults, I showed up for the Campbell All-Class Reunion and ran into more of my brother’s friends than my classmates. They’d stop me and ask, “Aren’t you Bobby’s baby sister?” Well, I was, but I wasn’t a baby.

By that time, I had been replaced by the other women in his life: his wife, daughter and the first of his two granddaughters.

Replaced is not the proper word, I had been joined by them.

He and his sons would take me on a trout fishing weekend. To this day, I’ve failed to catch a trout. One year, my calm brother who took everything in stride was overheard saying he was willing to pay my fine if I wanted to fish in the hatchery. I didn’t take him up on the offer, but I remember the thought. The hatchery idea might still be an option, since fishing for folks my age in Missouri is free, which sounds like a good defense to me.

I really thought we would have longer together, but we didn’t. One of the lessons I’ve learned is don’t put off spending time with those you love. Today, might be your last opportunity.

Barbara Ann Horton is a staff writer at the Daily American Republic. She can be reached at bhorton@darnews.com.