Love Letters from Heather

To my brother, Doug.

Sorry. Thank you. Sorry. Thank you. Sorry. Thank you for saving my life. The end. This is my letter in a nutshell.

I owe you mountains of apologies and oceans of gratitude. Where to begin?

Let’s start with the sorrys.

Early to mid-teens, you probably just wanted to spend Saturday afternoons sitting around with your friends looking at car and motorcycle magazines. You, with your dark brown hair, slight build, and wire-rimmed glasses, were known to your friends as “DT.” You had a solid, close-knit little circle.

However, I, being eight years your junior, felt these were the perfect moments to BE wherever you and your friends were hanging out to “work the room” so to speak, flitting about, trying to get a laugh out of your pals, hoping to gain a backstage all-access pass to YOUR life and friends. After all, it was my belief that I was (and still am, hahahaha) the best-looking sibling of our trio.

My annoyance extended well beyond these intrusions into your social life, I am sure. I often cashed in on opportunities to irritate you, especially when you were just trying to watch TV, read magazines, listen to music (Jeremiah was a bullfrog…bump bump…was a good friend of mine!), or hang out in your own room.

You handled it like a pro, though. You have me to thank for you developing patience. And, to my recollection, you only lashed out once. A slight punch to the gut sent me to the basement office where Dad was working—preparing lessons or marking or talking on his short-wave radio.

“Doug hurt me,” I sobbed.

My theatrics got me nowhere, however. He must have known. He didn’t bat an eye or sympathize with my case in the least. He must have seen things for what they were.

You got your license when I was eight. And I am sorry you were often tasked with driving me here and there. I have to say, it was super cool to have a personal chauffeur at such a young age!

I am sorry you were stuck sharing our half of the tent trailer with me whenever we travelled. I can’t remember if you were on my side of the trailer or relegated to a mattress on the floor. Sorry you were tasked with pulling me around in the wagon and on the sleds, and with taking me for rides on the back of your snowmobile or motorbikes.

Being the middle child couldn’t have been the easiest position to hold, looking up at a much older brother who would have been doing things you could not yet and having an irritating sister who was always “there” in need of something.

I also want to apologize for not being terribly communicative throughout the years. I think it would be fair to say that we are both introverts and not the best at small talk. However, no matter how much time goes by, when we see each other, it is like no time has passed at all.

Now to the thank yous.

Being the only girl in the family, I was never fortunate to receive any hand-me-down clothing. However, a big shout-out for the second-hand bikes and cars! I absolutely loved the green Honda Civic with its standard transmission and peppy engine. It did, however, have an issue with dampness, causing stress more than once when it wouldn’t start in the rain. The rainbow to these storms was I learned how to jump-start a vehicle.

I was so proud of my big brother when you went off to university. Thank you for inspiring me to follow in your footsteps, later attending the same school in Southern Michigan. You started dabbling in black and white photography, and your photos were absolutely stunning. I also have it on good authority that you displayed an incredible entrepreneurial spirit. At this time in history, in this very conservative university, televisions were not allowed in the dorm rooms. However, you managed to have one hidden somewhere, seeing an opportunity. When key shows came on, it is my understanding that you offered access to your room for a very small fee. Your creativity and ingenuity abounded! You also had one in your room at home, which I found to be of benefit. I still remember plonking myself on your bed to watch Mary Tyler Moore.

Years later, when I attended the same school, you would write to me from your home in Saint John, New Brunswick. Thank you for the letters! They were well crafted and funny as heck. Your dry, superior sense of humour is unparalleled. At the time, the pulp and paper industry was going full force in the Bay of Fundy city, owned, of course, by the Irving family. The town had a general unpleasant sulphur smell that often wafted throughout. I still remember how you described it: “And the sweet smell of Irving’s success permeates the air.”

But better yet, you sent money! You still had some US currency left from years ago when you lived in Michigan, too. What a treat. Thank you.

You would eventually come back to Ontario—so would I. For one year, you lived in Ottawa. I still remember your apartment and walking on one of the parkways on Sunday morning.

Thanks for teaching me about how a standard transmission on a motorbike works. Was it four up, one down on your little trail bike? I can’t be sure. But you tried your best to get me to work the clutch and gears in smooth unity. Apparently, I wasn’t very good, and you found the jerky ride equal parts amusing and uncomfortable.

Thanks for looking out for me no matter what. I could always count on your quiet and observant presence. Thanks for being there for my son, Jason, too. And, another sorry—sorry your snowmobile caught fire when Jason was driving it. I understand it wasn't his fault. But, you know. Just thought I should be contrite.

And, of course, the most significant expression of gratitude. Thanks for saving me from drowning. I was three. You were eleven. My own grandson is now eleven, and when I look at him, I can’t imagine you at that age jumping in to fish me out of cold, rushing water.

You had a toy boat with a string on it. There had been a flood that had taken out the banks for the creek and Dad was working on cleaning up the mess. You let me play with the boat. But instead of hanging on to the string, I decided to fall into the current. You had the presence of mind to run in and pull me out. It could have ended badly, but it didn’t. Thank you. When a butterfly flaps its wings and all that…

I am very proud of you and love you very much. I have always admired your wit and sharp observational skills. You have faced and continue to face many challenges that life throws your way, but you always manage to get back up again, a quiet resiliency without fanfare.

Unfortunately, we share a weakness towards debilitating headaches, you more so. I often wonder if I was the initial cause of your migraines!

Sorry. Thank you. Sorry. Thank you. Sorry. Thank you for saving my life. The end.

If I dare leave you with any type of suggestion, it would be Nike’s slogan: Just do it. Know that you are capable, and you can. You got this.

Happy Valentine's Day,

Your annoying, better-looking little sister, Heather

PS. You are the only person who I trust enough to get on the back of a motorbike with. Ever. Shhhhh, don’t tell our older brother that!

~

Love Letters from Heather is a series. If you enjoyed this installment, feel free to read others:

To my son, Jason

To my mother

To the Woman I yelled at in the Grocery Store Parking Lot

 To my daughter, Charity

 To my bother, David

 To my former student, Brady

 To my daughter, Candice