A bottle of red. . . .

Yesterday we attended the funeral of my uncle, my mother's only brother. I have posted before that although I wasn't as close to him as I might have wished, I certainly mourned for the loss his daughters felt. On a sunshine soaked day they buried their father and I cannot imagine how that must have felt.

My brothers came in for the funeral to support both my mother and our cousins. It was strange for all of us to be together as generally we aren't able to assemble in the same place. Children, relationships, work and life seem to keep us each running in a different direction.

When we were small children we were inseparable. We didn't have our own identities, being lumped as "the kids". At some point we became fiercely independent of one another and somehow along the way our relationships got lost in that determination. Sometimes hurt feelings, baggage, gossip and silly mistakes shield you from seeing those that you love in a healthy, positive and good way.

As of late we have started to come back together. We have found our playmates once again. And I must say I missed them terribly. For a long time I knew I was missing something, something that I needed, something that I wanted, something that left me feeling empty.

Now I know what I so craved. Last night after everything had settled down, I invited my brothers to my house. We shared a good bottle of wine, so many memories and perhaps the best discussion we have had since we were children. I learned more about these two smart, funny, compassionate, caring men than I ever knew. I know in my heart that I'd like them, even if they weren't my brothers, even if we don't share the same stories, the same parents and some of the same idiosynchrasies.

The three of us have so many things we want to figure out. We have so many things we want to know about from whence we can and where we are going. It's nice to know that you have someone making a parallel journey and maybe, just maybe once in a while walking on the same path.

I love my brothers. I never tell them that enough and I was nearly tempted to invite them to my blog where maybe they might get to see that I mean that enough to write it here, where I find myself most honest. They would read that I think they are strong, brave, kind, loving, nurturing, funny, witty, wise and good men. They'd probably read that I value them, I value their opinion, I value their individual lives. They would see that I think they are good parents, good spouses/partners and loving friends. They'd know that I think they hung both the moon and the sun. Perhaps they'd realize that I feel a void when they are gone. Perhaps they'd know that sometimes I dream of hot summers in the backyard or Christmas Eve scheming. Maybe they too would admit that it's a good feeling to have someone that "gets" you and understands why you are the way you are, and maybe they contributed to that in some way.

I won't invite them just yet, for now I will try to show them in so many ways.

I think now when I retreat to a happy place, I may just find myself in the den of my house, with my brothers flanking me on each side, half empty wine glasses scattered on the table and laughter echoing in my ears.