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They were always together. They shared so much — even the same birthday. Irish twins — they were born exactly one year apart from each other. I met them when we were all teenagers. Their family took me — the motherless child — under their collective wing and never let go.
My kids grew up calling one of them ‘Uncle’ and one of their sisters ‘Aunt’. That sister is still one of my best friends — nearly fifty years later.
But we lost them both — well before their time — if anyone wants my opinion. But, everyone knows how much that is worth. No one ever wins an arguement with Azrael. She comes for us all, in our time.
The younger brother died as a result of a life lived and lived hard. He grabbed life and shook it. When we were kids, he nearly drowned. A decade later he wrecked his motorcycle. Eventually, I think, he simply ran out of lives. But my, oh, my — that man lived.
The older brother and I always shared a special bond. He was a good listener when I really needed one. We loved each other in that rare friends-forever-kind-of-way that didn’t include sibling rivalry or sexual passion. I always had an inkling we had been comrades-in-arms in our past lives. We always had each other’s back. COVID took him from us last December.
