Row Home Remembers LoveBrotherly

byTony Santini

Our family has been through a rough stretch these past few years, losing our mother in April of 2021 and our father in December of 2022. Life threw us another curveball in January with the sudden passing of our younger brother in January 2023. Like all families, we are dealing with the grief and the aftermath of what the departed have left behind. The physical things have a way of resolution whether you keep them, share them, sell them, or donate them. It’s the memories, both good and bad, that stay with you much longer.

At my brother’s viewing, a good friend offered condolences which put a lot in perspective for me. She said, “Losing a pet leaves a hole in your heart. Losing a child must be devastating and I can’t imagine that grief. Losing a parent is hard but, if they lived a good life and did not have much suffering, you can almost take comfort in the fact that it’s the circle of life and always keep their memories alive by talking about them often. But losing a sibling is like losing a part of your childhood.”

In the immediate days following Michael’s death, I went through the motions of handling phone calls from friends and family; making the funeral arrangements; closing out bank accounts, credit cards, and utilities; putting his house up for sale. It is now where the memories are popping up in my head, every day.

Why did we have assigned seats at the kitchen table growing up? Dad was always at the head of the table. I understand and respect that but my sister, my brother and I could have sat anywhere. They liked to joke that I always sat in the furthest seat from the stove and refrigerator so I would never have to get up for anything during dinner. My little brother sat in the furthest seat from my father so he couldn’t reach over to smack him in the head if he was being annoying. My brother did sit next to me, which made it convenient to toss my green vegetables onto his plate when he wasn’t looking or steal his fries if I could distract him. We were forced to share a bedroom when our middle sister got to a certain age and needed her own room. Being the older brother, I assured him that it entitled me to more drawers and closet space, but I did teach him how he could get along just fine by keeping his clothes under the bed.

I was always there to offer him advice on Christmas gifts. He especially remembers when I told him how much fun a Monopoly game would be, even if he didn’t know how to read. I assured him that he did not have a need for things like new clothes, a new bicycle, or a new baseball glove because I would be more than happy to give him my old stuff and, they were “better” than new stuff because they were all broken in.

I remember the first time I had to show up as his older brother to strike some fear into neighborhood kids who were picking on him. Good thing they were half my size. I always felt guilty that he had to get that “Little Santini” moniker through grade school or the comparisons. I used to tell him that I was sorry I set such a high bar and he would say that I had fooled everyone and should have been an actor.

When he was 18, I asked him to be my best man at my wedding. Although he was not old enough to drink in Pennsylvania, he did a nice job with the bachelor party and ensured my other trusted friends and cousins kept things above board, so they did not spoil anything with my future bride. I asked him to be the Godfather to my first born. I imagined he would be a great role model, but what I got was an instructor to teach my son how to pick up girls, sneak into clubs, get fake IDs, and gamble at the casinos. That’s what fun uncles do, right?

In our adult years, our friends and interests differed but one thing remained constant, as with most siblings. I could talk about him but never let anyone else say anything about him. I knew that he was always there for me or my kids if we needed him.

Rest in peace, my Brother. I’ll miss you. PRH