Gabriel was my idol. I’ve admired him as a hero since I saw him riding a bike. He was a courageous one.
He always looked after me too. When it was just the two of us in the sandbox, he would protect me. I remember that one time when he scared off that bully.
Like any other little brother, I would follow him around, and learn to be like him in every way possible.
As teenagers, we hung out together quite often. We would annoy our sisters, who never took a liking to our being together. ‘We need a bigger house so you two can be as far apart as possible’ they would often
tease.
‘That’s not funny.’ Gabe would always be standing in front of them.
Its times like those that made me really miss him most.
****
Mother was sitting at the kitchen table, rolling cinnamon rolls, while Gabriel and I were out in the back of the house, beyond the kitchen window, where mother could see us. We were playing tag, and he was it. My brother was always it. He knew I didn’t like to be it, so whenever he was it, he slowed down just enough for me to tag him back.
As the best of friends, it seemed like nothing would ever change it. It seemed as if we were going to be tight forever. I knew it, he knew it, and nothing was going to change it.
****
It was Easter back when I was 15. Gabriel was up early that morning to hide the chocolate eggs. It was mid-morning when the rest of us woke up. I was still drowsy from sleep, and hadn’t really been fully tuned in to what was going on.
It had been raining the night before. The chocolate eggs had to be hidden around the house, as it was too wet to look outside for them.
It started out with me waking up and going to the bathroom. I opened the medicine cabinet and out fell a chocolate egg and my toothbrush.
The egg and my toothbrush…
It happened every year; one of my brothers or sisters would lean my toothbrush against one of the cabinet doors and place an egg next to
it hoping I was sleepy enough to try to brush my teeth with the egg, and it had worked a for a few years. It wasn’t going to this time.After brushing my teeth, I headed downstairs with the chocolate egg in hand.
‘Ah, little bro, seems like you caught on.’ Gabe laughed as he spoke.
‘Yup! I’m not going to fall for it anymore,’ I said with pride.
As I sat down to eat breakfast, I felt something where I sat. It felt uncomfortable, and I got up right away to see what it was; an Easter egg was waiting for me when I sat down. My brothers were laughing at me, and I started laughing with them. ‘Good one, you almost got me there!’
Those were the days I enjoyed the most.
****
‘Children! Time for the Easter egg hunt!’ Father walked in with a pink basket with a yellow ribbon tied to it. He was dressed in a half decent pink suit with top hat that had been accidentally bleached a few years ago.
‘Oh come on dad! We’re too old now!’ My sister had been complaining about it for a few years. She was now 16, and as the oldest child in the family, she had felt it was her obligation to protect our family from anything embarrassing happening. It was funny because every time she tried that, my parents just looked at her funny and carried on with it anyways.
Now being the case, we all expected it to happen with the usual discussion about ‘upholding family traditions’ and her storming away to her room. I never really understood either side of the situation. I could only make out that sister wanted freedom and my parents wanted to keep her from that.
Surprisingly, it’s not what actually ended up happening.
‘You’re right! This probably is quite embarrassing. You’re all grown up now, so go ahead, look for the eggs, and I’ll catch up with you as soon as I get out of this suit.’
Father seemed hopeless or something. I’m not exactly sure, I couldn’t tell myself.
That day was the most fun I’ve had since moving from the farm, mostly because I was old enough to understand valuable enjoyment, but also because father wasn’t hanging over us, watching our every step.
‘Gabe, come try and catch me,’ I yelled running into a bush and running back again. It felt wonderful, running around free and having fun with my brothers and sisters, outside on a beautiful Easter morning.
I had found the most eggs that day, some within the bushes behind the house, some in the house around the kitchen, and even one or two hidden behind the heater in the basement. The first one I had found that year was actually not next to my toothbrush; instead, it was the one hidden on the mantle of the fireplace behind father’s picture.
At the end of the day, we gathered together all the chocolate that was left over, and showed our parents. Father handed out chocolate bunnies and I won the biggest one, it was hollow, made of milk chocolate, and had white eyes and bow tie around its neck. My family never had much of a taste for dark chocolate so we never had those kinds on Easter.
****
‘Easter is a celebration of life.” My father’s last story to us was about his childhood Easter experience.
‘Never let go of what you have,’ he used to tell us. I remember the story about his childhood, and how things changed for him.
****
‘It was a bright day, I was really cheerful.’ My father was always in a cheerful mood around Easter. ‘Your grandpa always enjoyed Easter. It was one particular Easter, during the war, when I heard he was never coming back. At the time, I didn’t quite understand what it meant. I thought all that would happen was I was going to miss him more. I didn’t realize that it would mean forever.’
He explained that he didn’t think much of having never said goodbye. ‘I know it’s a sad memory, but having to think about not being able to do anything, having that memory and thought on my mind nonstop isn’t going to get me anywhere. I try my best to keep busy, and hope that one day my father would come back, even though my mother died of loneliness, knowing that father is gone, never to come back.’
My mother always held his hand when he told this story; it kept them both from losing focus of Easter. ‘During the egg hunt, my mother came out to us and called us in. “Your father, he…I got a letter from the army, your father is dead.” When she told us this, she broke into tears.
All I could do was watch, memories like this one never really sank in, because of what Easter really means. It was a time when Jesus died on the cross for our sakes. It’s important for me to remember, because it’s like my own father, and all those soldiers who died, did it to protect us; they did it for our sake.’
I always kept this story in my own heart. After my father was done telling us this story, all he said was, ‘Remember children, Easter is a time of joy; it doesn’t matter what else has happened, just remember, it’s all about Jesus’ sacrifice, and anything else that happens, happens to show us that we need to be better.’ This is how my father got along. That evening, he died. It was a peaceful resting. He had a smile on his face, and a pipe in his hands. Father had lived an active life. He was a farmer for most of it, and after moving to the city, became a city grocer.
****
The funeral wasn’t a big affair. Most of the people who visited his store in our neighbourhood were there to say a few words. Many of them basically went along the lines of ‘he was a hard working family man, good friend, and always cared about others.’ I knew that was true. I saw it. Every time I was there in the store with him, I would see how grateful the customers were to have him.
None of that mattered at the funeral, not to me anyways. I was alone again. After having to leave my friends back at the farm, I lose my father. It’s like I was constantly leaving people behind, losing them, and never being able to do anything.
All I could do was stand and watch it pass by. All I could do was watch it happen. I couldn’t change it, couldn’t fix it to make anything better. I wanted things to work, but all I could remember was what my father said, that it was all about that sacrifice and love of those who died on Easter, and that was all that was I needed to keep me going.
****
When asked to talk at the funeral, I choked. All I could say was, ‘I miss him,’ and cried. It was disheartening to have heard my mother cry during the funeral. Even though it was supposed to be a celebration of life, we were mourning the dead.
There wasn’t anything else to it; my father was dead, my mother was alone. Every Easter after that, mother was the one that would tell stories. She told us stories of her Easters with father and others of her childhood. One story was that of her and father, before they got married,
and had the chance to spend that weekend together. I wished then that I could experience what she did: love.****
I was seventeen years old. I had my first girlfriend. I had experienced love. I had never experienced anything like it before, and it was so uplifting. Easter was spent at mother’s, with my girlfriend, Sandra, coming over to have lunch with the family. Mother was pleased to meet her, and was quite happy that I had met someone special. ‘My children deserve the best. That’s why I’ve been careful with your brother’s and sisters’ choices.’ She whispered this to me in the kitchen as I helped her with the dishes, and Sandra was with my brother Gabriel in the other room.
I could hear laughing while I was drying, and put the last plate away on the shelf.
As I headed over to the living room, I heard the laughing stop. I peered in and all of a sudden, my reaction changed. I was filled with hatred, and I could do nothing to stop it. I walked upstairs, frustrated with what I saw, and packed my bag. I took my bag and all the money I had, and left through the window.
‘How could she? How could she have done this to me?’ I was crying by the time I had gotten to train station. I got on a train headed several cities down. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I knew I had to go, because I clearly wasn’t wanted.
****
At nineteen, I never expected things to get better. It was busy around Easter time at the quaint mansion of Cameron Leggat. It had been a while since I last saw him, and he and his wife Lauren were childhood friends. I had moved in with them after giving everything up at home. I knew there was no place left for me to go except here. All I had were them, so I offered to work for them, and we maintained a professional relationship. I had focused on mathematics and statistics during high school so I managed their finances. I did get paid well enough, and the Leggats gave me a place in their home. I had been there for a year. I hadn’t been very close with anyone I had worked with, and was seemingly growing more distant from Cameron. I had, on my free time, begun to write. Many things -- all of which were lonely, unmistakably agonizing – that when read aloud cause tremors of heartbreaks to fill the room.
I remember a story I wrote once, which had almost been published. It was the story of my life, and how a childhood wish to be with his family forever was ruined by his one chance at love. I never regretted writing it. I never regretted having not published it. It was too gruesome. As if something out of The Phantom of the Opera or Wuthering Heights, the depressing and gruelling scenery that constantly pervaded the texts make them, as critics have called it, too depressing to read.
****
At Easter, I went to visit my mother’s memorial stone and my family; I knew it was only proper. Nothing had been said, and Easter became another quiet and lonely time for the family.
