Serendipity: Finding One’s Self in a Eulogy

I believe in serendipity. Today I was going through paperwork on my desk and found the eulogy that I wrote and delivered to family and friends for my brother’s celebration of life just over a year ago.

The memories provoked a year ago when I wrote it were intense, and so are my memories today. Finding this is a reminder of the impact of a person in one’s life that you may not realize until you really examined things. With immense gratitude, I believe it’s important to honor those who are a part of shaping our story.

Eulogy for my brother, Larry Miller, 1956 – 2022

24,244 days. 796 months, 14 days. 66 years, 4 months, 14 days.

Over the past two weeks old memories have bubbled in my consciousness. Things remembered that I haven’t thought about in years. He was 12 years older than me. Most memories I have of Larry are from my childhood years and his teen years. These past two weeks I’ve had conversations with Larry in my head each night with my head on my pillow, which have kept me up into the wee hours. In each of these nightly missives, I tell him that I remember.

I remember his infectious laugh and his sarcasm. He would throw his head back in laughter when he got the better of you with his wit. When his effervescence shone on you, there was joy.

I remember being the annoying little sister that he didn’t want to be bothered with as he sat in the living room on Simpson avidly reading books. Some heady, some pulp fiction, some classics. I have a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo that he gave me in 1978 when he moved out on my bookshelf to this day.

I remember him coming home from work in the foundry along with my brother Michael covered in soot and my mom would not allow them into the front door. They had to go to the side door and shower in the radio room.

I remember him bringing food home when he worked at the Fore & Aft. I loved the meals that others sent back to the kitchen so they couldn’t be re-served. We were never a family of waste. I remember staying up late for that food and watching the Past Prime Playhouse with him, trying to remain quiet so that I would not be shooed away.

I remember that both Larry and the old man could hold people captive with their musical talent. I remember a late-night session in our kitchen, one of many, with people in the house and mom cooking breakfast at midnight with first the old man play The House of the Rising Sun and then Larry turning around and playing it better than the old man ever dreamt of playing. Larry always shined.

I remember his innate ability to hear a song and learn it, immediately.

I remember in elementary school when I joined the school band, I chose the drums because I felt that I could never compare to his raw talent. When I told him that I joined the band at school, he asked me why I didn’t choose the guitar. He said that he could help me with that. My insecure childhood self hadn’t even thought of that. All I could thing is who could compare with that. But Larry had a good heart.

I remember going to hear him play on the road when I was a kid. He was lead guitar and backup vocals with the Robert Dolan Road Show at the time. It was magic to see his success. Over the years he was with many bands, but this stands out because we as a family travelled to see him play.

We are a competitive family. In our house music was the language of life and being good at it was important. Even though I went on to be adequate at violin, I never had the musical talent that he did. He told me once to throw away my sheet music and just play. That did give me some courage to try that out, though I was not successful. In the end, my artistry is with words not music. We are a family of artists, writers, and musicians, along with many other professions.

I remember coming home from being out with mom, the old man, and Angie more than once to one of Larry’s house parties in progress. It was the 70s.

I remember when Larry and the old man took off out the front door in the middle of the night, sleep in their eyes, barefoot, and in their tighty whities because someone tried to break into our house. They had thrown a crow bar through the plate glass window of our living room. The prowler had stirred me and I had gotten up to wake others just before this happened. Larry was protective of family.

I remember sneaking into his room when he was gone to listen to his albums. He had an amazing collection even back then. It was because of him that I knew all of the cool music of the 60s and 70s. He gave me my first vinyl. Kiss Alive! Steve Miller Band – Children of the Future. Santana – Moonflower.

I remember his orange Camaro and his first Harley Davidson. I remember mom saying that all he had to do was to pull into Frisch’s parking lot and rev the bike and the girls would surround him. He was handsome and the Harley didn’t hurt.

I remember him protecting Angie and I many times in our parents’ private war with each other. When you come from a family like ours, there are a lot of sharp edges and a competitive desire of perfection. All my siblings have the need for perfection and to be right. It’s our Achille’s heel, and Larry was not an exception.

About 15 years ago we started having those deep conversations about growing up and what that all meant. Larry always felt like an outsider in our family since he joined our family around age 8 when his father and my mother got together. My mother raised him and loved his as her own, but he had been used to being an only child. It had to be hard. It’s a lot to come into a family this big and with the excess and eccentricity. I remember him telling me when he asked for his first guitar that it pissed him off that two of the other older siblings got one first because they didn’t have an interest like he did. Sibling rivalry was real.

Even in mid-life, through his eyes I was always a little girl. It’s a thing that Angie and I have had to deal with all our older siblings. Even so, Larry and I shared periodic discussions about music, food, politics, and random stuff. And I went to see him play in local bars on occasion until the past few years. In late middle age his mastery was definitely still there.

After you lose your parents and then start to lose your siblings, I think that seems harder. Maybe because you are closer in age to them or are just plan closer to them from growing up together. But as we get older ourselves, I guess it isn’t going to get any easier to deal with these losses. But these memories form the narrative that is the tapestry of our life. The roar of his motorcycle outside the house, reading in the living room, and playing guitar… always playing guitar.

Love always ends in grief. But love does not stop with death. Love is what remains.

After Thoughts

My brother died from Covid-19. His sudden death was a reminder that we are not out of this yet, even though it’s declared over, and even though younger caution is still necessary for us. In January 2023 both my husband and I came down with Covid-19. I had it twice before mildly. This time I was severely sick for two weeks and I still have some residual symptoms four months later. I was fully vaccinated and think that I would be dead if I hadn’t been this time.

The legacy my brother left me is more memories than I can count. I think of him whenever I hear Can’t Find My Way Home. I hope you’re resting well, brother.

Links

• Larry Miller Acoustic Solo (YouTube channel) Limited original and cover acoustic works.
• Larry’s obituary