I had two older brothers, but one died and so I am left with one.
The one who died had Down('s) Syndrome and a congenital heart defect; he died at the age of 27. Though 4 years my senior, there was a brief window when we were playmates and 'equals' before I necessarily took on an older brother role, monitoring him, etc. We shared a bunkbed until I was. . . maybe twelve?
Our whole family got an all expenses 'last wish foundation' trip to Disneyland at one point (a destination which my retarded brother chose to visit in some contrast to the rest of the family's idea of a good last wish). Then, as he did throughout his entire life, Patrick gave short shrift to his medical prognosis and trucked on for another 10 years. How it made us smile inside, the way Patrick took a non-profit charity for a ride.
Patrick was the only person in my life who I hugged/was hugged-by everytime I saw him. He is also likely the only person I would allow to hug me knowing full well that he was a rabid fan of professional hockey, professional wrestling, and Star Trek. He had a good excuse, with the Down Syndrome and all.
Beautiful man. Enjoyed slurpees.
My older brother is a cinematographer. He's very driven, very intense, very strong, and very hairy. And I couldn't have asked for a more supportive and accepting older brother. We aren't competitive, and that is how I like things with people that matter. We don't have issues.
He soloed Mount Assinaboine this spring. Crazy fucker:
Not Crap for both. Zero waffling.