Today, February 18, would have been my older brother Lenny’s 57th birthday. He died in 1965 at the age of 7 from neuroblastoma, a rare form of cancer. I think he would have been an architect, a really nice guy, and my biggest fan.
To honor his life and our continued connection even after all this time, I’m sharing a piece I wrote about him in 2001 in a writing group.
My brother Lenny and I were best friends. We shared a bedroom. We loved knock-knock jokes. He was only thirteen months older than me.
Lenny’s favorite toy was his Erector Set. We would sit Indian-style on opposite sides of the coffee table and build things. My six year old fingers were too clumsy with the small parts so I was Lenny’s assistant. I handed him girders and screws and read the directions to make a helicopter just like the one on the outside of the metal carrying case. Sometimes Lenny even let me hold the wrench while he tightened.
Lenny had an operation to remove one of his kidneys and the scar ran like train tracks above the waistband of his white cotton underwear. He liked to run around the living room in his underwear, wearing my red knee socks and his maroon long sleeve t-shirt tied around his neck like a cape. He told everyone he was Superman.
Lenny and I loved the Beatles. We had both of their albums and the 45 of She Loves You. Our favorite part was the yeah, yeah, yeah’s.
On one of our trips to the hospital for Lenny’s chemotherapy, I got to pick out a toy for myself at the hospital gift shop. I chose The Beatles Flip Your Wig game. Lenny and I always fought over who would get to be Paul. Neither one of us ever wanted to be Ringo.
Before Lenny got sick, we played dress up together. He was Mary Poppins and I was Bert. He wore my tan jumper, a plastic wig and my mother’s flowery high-heeled shoes. I wore my favorite corduroy pants and my father’s brown lace up shoes. We knew all of the words to “Supercalifragilisticexpialidotious” by heart.
Lenny had a scar on his forehead from when I hit him with my plastic teapot. We had Crazy Foam fights in the bathtub. He taught me how to pee standing up. He used to shine the black goose-neck lamp on me like a spotlight while I stood on the base of my mother’s Hoover upright vacuum cleaner, singing into the handle.
We both lost our voices from screaming the night my father took us to a wrestling match to see Bruno Semartino. He always beat me at Monopoly. He was tired a lot. His skin was yellow. He got really sick. And then he died.
I helped pick out the clothes for him to wear in the casket but I didn’t go to the funeral because the pediatrician didn’t think it was a good idea. Instead, my mom’s best friend took me and her sons to an amusement park that day, but I don’t remember anything, except the heaviness of Lenny’s silver-banded Timex watch, loose around my wrist.
I love how you love Lenny. He will always be a part of who you were, who you are and finally who you will be. He’s in that great big heart of yours! XOXOX
Annie, I am forever grateful to you, my friend:
In college, I wanted to make my mother a collage of pictures for Mother’s Day, of all of her children, and I wanted to talk about Lenny and ask her questions, but I was terrified what it would poke in my mother. And you told me “Ruth, he was your brother, you have a right to know.”
You gave me the courage and permission to finally open it all up, open me all up….
So much healing was able to happen for all of us…. and still is……
Thank you, more than you can ever know!
Thank you Ruth for sharing Lenny. What sweet memories you have ! I imagine you miss him terribly. Today he is here, in your memory and the hearts of all of us who hold witness to your beautiful story. Happy Birthday Lenny!
Thank you Connie!
Ruth, Thanks for sharing Lenny with us. Remembering that “Leonard loves Ruthie” just like it says on my heart pillow.
Yes, Gemma! That beautiful pillow!
What lovely observations. I remember watching the two of you play. I’m sad that my most vivid memory of Lenny is from when he was sick. When your family moved into the house next door Lenny was taller and then his illness must have stunted his growth because you became the taller one. The contrast in your complexions was so striking even I, still a child myself, couldn’t help but notice. I’m glad you remember him so fondly.
Merry, thank you so much for sharing your memories. xxxxxxxx
Lovely tribute, Ruth. I am sorry for your loss. I bet you added a love spark to his short life. XO
Today as the family starts to gather to bid farewbell to my oldest sister, the one who always stood up for me, who grew up to be my confidant, your piece was specially poingnant. Thank you for sharing your lovej for Lenny.
Maria, know that your sister will always be there, reminding you to stand up for yourself and loving you! My prayers to you and your family.
Lenny continues to grow in your heart and in all of your words, Ruth! Your big brother continues to watch over you…and what amazing woman you are! Happy Birthday Lenny!
Thanks for this post. I often wonder if my kids ever think about their sister who was only with y for 6 years, how they feel about it all now.
Jackie, for years I wanted to ask my parents about Lenny, but didn’t want to upset them. We never talked about him and I hated it. Perhaps your kids feel the same. Maybe you could ask them, begin the conversation. Sending you much love for your own loss.