Memories of a Brother

I am back from Tucson now...the place where Peter spent the last 12 years or so. We (Mike, Jess and I) were warmly welcomed and comforted by the place and the friends that kept our brother, Jess's father, there.

With each person we met came a new story, a new laugh, a new perspective on who he was to his friends and colleagues. We heard about his passion, uniqueness, and powerful presence...and even how he might have been 'misconstrued' by some folks.

Persistent or pig headed?  Determined or stubborn? He made choices that didn't always make sense to some of us. He lived life his way, BIG:  big ideas, big stories, and big heart.  He made an impression that's for sure.

My own connection to this guy started with the stories I heard of my early years. Peter apparently wanted a curly haired, brown eyed sister and voila, that's what he got. It's my understanding that we doted on each other. Peter could drag me around and I rarely complained, content to have his attention.

One story of childhood I do keenly remember is when he taught me how to ride a two wheeler. I was seven and he would have been 12 or so. We were out in a big open field near our house and despite the rough terrain I eventually got the hang of balancing and pedaling. I felt that heart thumping lurch that feels like freedom: I was riding my bike!

Seconds later came a second lurch of the heart...he hadn't told me how to stop.*

How appropriate for the Peter I have come to know all these years later. 'Stop' didn't really seem to be a word he acknowledged in his expansive vocabulary.

Peter and I had many differences but this past week in Tucson has also helped me to see where we aligned. We both loved people and helping them if we could see a way to do that. We both loved where we lived - Peter the desert, me the Gatineau hills. And we both loved music and words.

I remember convincing the family to pool our resources to get him a guitar when he was a teenager. He wrote some songs back then that I still sing, songs that often revealed his heart. His annual visit to the Ottawa area usually meant a party at my place where his friends and mine would tell stories and make some music. One of my favourite memories was when my friend Bente recounted her hilarious adventure in Africa with a donkey named Brian...and later that evening Peter belted out an improvised blues tune based on that story. He had us all in lyrical stitches.  

Peter sent me snippets of my thesis back as quotable quotes. Talk about making a sister feel proud! I can't tell you how much it meant to me that he took the time to read my Master's thesis. He claimed he had learned something from it and sometimes would call me after trying a new approach with some clients that he got from me. It's a heady experience to have your older brother take you seriously.

I'm sure more memories and meaning will hit me in the days and months to come. I trust that our Vanderlee signature sense of humour will help me live with this loss. It has sure been heart warming to learn how much he meant to so many people, including you, his dear friends.

* I stopped that first ride on my bike by aiming for a tree way off in the distance, ran right into it. It worked, I stopped.  Perhaps another trait I (unconsciously) picked up from Pete.