Originally published by me on Bubblews on September 14, 2014

Three brothers in a household meant wrestling and boy humor and mud and tree climbing and reptiles and sticks and weapons and fishing and sports and fights and rocks and frogs and camping and knives and bikes and scouts and silliness and superheroes and fun and more fun.

My boys would play together.

My boys would fight together.

My boys would take walks and talk.

My oldest was two years older than the next boy and six years older than the next boy. The older two were best friends forever. The youngest looked up to both, but especially the oldest. Having brothers was a special thing.

Then my oldest son died. And my second born lost his best friend. And my youngest boy lost his hero.

Brothers should be brothers all through their childhood and into adulthood. Brothers shouldn’t lose brothers when they are still children.



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