My Sweet Brother Ernie

“Out of all my brothers, Ernie was the most like Cindy.”

I eventually settled upon this as the best response to the texts expressing sympathy for the passing of my second brother in about a month.  If you knew my sweet brother Ernie or equally sweet wife Cindy, you know this to be the highest compliment for either.

A month ago I shared that my cool brother Dave taught me “expect kindness, find kindness.”  My sweet brother Ernie taught me the beauty of openly giving and receiving affection.  Both lessons paved the way for the warmth I experienced all across this country, a warmth shared on this blog.  I could have referred to both as “my kind brother.”  Dave’s playful and outgoing nature gave his kindness a “cool” vibe.  Ernie’s warm and humble nature made his kindness “sweet, ” a humble sweetness that came across loudly.

Myself and others of this clan often claim “Sinclairs are huggers” when we hug new acquaintances in greeting or parting.  Yet neither of our parents were overly demonstrative with affection.  In terms of lineage, the hugging bug for the Sinclair clan can be traced back to Ernie.  He hugged anyone and everyone in town, usually receiving an appreciative smile in return.  Each observance of Ernie’s warmth registered in me a desire to be him.

Ernie was thirteen when our parents moved to our Norfolk home in 1946.  Though a good part of his childhood occurred beforehand, he spent almost all of his adult life here.  Many siblings grow up together then move apart.  Because of our age difference, Ernie and I grew up apart but became the only two out of five brothers living in the same town.  The natural and cultural beauty of pastoral Norfolk appealed to him, as did the warmth and emphasis on community. Ernie appealed to Norfolk as well, as everyone embraced him as a pillar of the community.

Living in the same town meant our families frequently gathered together each year for picnics and dinner parties. We went to the same church potlucks. This spelled trouble for others as our voracious appetites rivaled each other. Observers might have thought we actually did grow up together during the depression and fought each other for scraps. Being like Ernie in terms of appetite was not one of my aspiration though, and I fell short of my brother anyways in terms of table manners.

Ernie’s love of beauty contributed to the sweetness of his soul. Ernie pursued artisanal beauty through woodcarving, carpentry, building and architecture.  Unfortunately, I could only admire his combination craftsmanship and perfection to create beauty.  On the other hand, I followed my brother’s footsteps with his immersion into beautiful music and photography.

Over the course of decades, Ernie and I often sang tenor side by side. We sang in the same church choir, Gaudeamus, Crescendo, the Litchfield County Choral Union and even a short-lived barbershop quartet. It took a while, but eventually I gratefully achieved my aspiration to sing duets with my sweet brother.

I do not lead the most conventional life.  Walking 5,000 miles across the country after Cindy was let go from work drew much skepticism. Questions of responsibility and even sanity arose, but never from my sweet brother Ernie.    He vocally and even financially supported that unconventional response to Cindy’s cognitive decline.  This again testifies to his sweetness. Ernie gave brotherly love for everyone, not just unconventional baby brothers.

Cindy and Ernie have something else in common.  Cindy continues to far surpass the life expectancy for someone with early onset Alzheimer’s.  Ernie lived to be 89, far surpassing what you might expect from someone who spent 62 days in a hospital with complications from a brain aneurysm.  Health depends in large measure on our emotional states. This helps to explain why the two sweetest people I know had much to do with both of them beating the odds.

Neither Norfolk nor the Sinclair clan will be the same without my brother Ernie, but we can still aspire towards his sweetness.