Love Letters from Heather

To my oldest brother, David,

For some, it would be handy to have a lawyer for a brother. Sadly, I am one of those people. So I will start this letter by commending you on your career choice. It has helped me and one or two of my kids out of a pickle more than once.

I honestly can’t pinpoint my first memory of you, but it is my understanding that your first memory of me was that you thought I was some type of terminal cancer. Apparently, our mother’s morning sickness, left unexplained (as was the custom of the time), caused some undue anxiety about what exactly she was facing. Sorry to have worried you. It may have been the first time, but I am sure it wasn’t the last!

I have been told a story many times but have no recollection of living it. I am sure you do. I was two, and we were on our way to Florida to visit Aunt Bea and Uncle Perce. Apparently, or so the story goes, I had just learned how to undo buttons. However, I had not yet mastered the science of doing them back up. The legend propagated is that you were wearing a button-up shirt and that I spent the better part of the trip unbuttoning it, only to insist that you do them back up so I could perfect my craft. Proof-positive that you were a patient man.

I do have a beef with you, though. In Grade 13, you would come home at lunchtime just to watch Sesame Street with me. Every. Single. Day. You were the dependable and stately big brother whom I adored. I looked forward to this event with a great amount of glee. However, this great brotherly kindness may have inadvertently imprinted upon me the questionable concept that all men would dote on me and have my best interest at heart—a naivety that would not always serve me. Why did you have to be such a good role model?

There was one typical big brother thing you did do, though. A blatant abuse of power. You would sing, “Heather is a…” And I would joyously finish your song right on queue as rehearsed with “dumb-dumb.” Even then, I found it hilarious and was confident that it was a joke. Never once did it occur to me that this could be anything other than funny. Even at a young age, I was able to decipher irony.

You often humoured me and occasionally would let me accompany you and Sandra on Saturday night dates to A&W. I can still remember rolling down the window and the plastic food tray hooking over, the sweet smell of root beer and the wafting scent of greasy onion rings seared permanently in my olfactory memory.

It never occurred to me that you might leave one day. But you did. I was probably only three or four. I was not impressed. You toddled off to Queens in Kingston, and I was quite angry about this arrangement.

One memory that remains in technicolour is a weekend you spent at home. You would take the train from Kingston to Oshawa on occasion to visit. I must have been quite young, as I still was having afternoon naps. I woke up from my Sunday nap to discover you had caught your train while I was still slumbering. No one bothered to wake me up so I could say good-bye. I was infuriated. In fact, now probably 50 years later, I can feel that rage as if it were yesterday.

I looked up to you. You were kind, friendly, and smart. I am pretty sure you didn’t even finish that degree in economics before getting accepted into law school. A trend that your own daughter would follow, except in the field of medicine.

I remember your countless motorbikes (including the one you crashed in the creek. It was weird watching my teenaged brother walk with a cane while his leg heeled)—and that Austin Mini (I think that is what it was, wasn't it?). Do you remember working on it in the driveway? Not sure what you were doing, but you walked away for a bit, and I remember it rolling freely backwards, me screaming, “Dave, your car is rolling away…” You managed to catch it before any great catastrophe.

You articled in Ottawa, but what a wonderful opportunity it afforded me to learn more about our nation’s capital on occasional visits. It was 1977, the Queen’s Jubilee. I remember standing on the Parliament green, my 11-year-old body pressed against the rope as the Queen and Prince Philip walked a mere foot from me.

On another visit, you took me to see the ice sculptures at Dow’s Lake, and then skating on the canal on Saturday night. When we got back to your place, the news showed that Margaret Trudeau had been on the canal that night at the same time we were, skating with her three boys. At that young age, I found Canada’s capital fascinating. I am deeply grateful that you and Sandra gave me these cool opportunities. Little did I know then that Justin Trudeau would grow up to be prime minister one day, a little kid skating on the Canadian ice, on the same night as I was. And I certainly had no clue that approximately 40 years later my friend Natalie Harris would afford me opportunities to go back and have a brief moment to see that fellow skater—except this time in the chambers of the Government Lounge.

When I bought my first house, you misspelled my middle name on the deed. I am not the least bit offended, however, as I have heard from a reliable source that there may have been an incident at the hospital with one of your daughters when you also had to confer on name spelling.

Thank you for looking out for Jason when you were a chaperone for his high school trip to Costa Rica, where the students built a church. I didn’t know until well after the event what you did! At the connecting flight in Newark, New Jersey, Jason was unable to fly. Not because he was some type of threat but because he was…sunburned. The burn was bad enough that he had been taken to the hospital, where they injected him with medication. Unfortunately, they were not aware that he had already taken a lot of antihistamine previously, causing a wee bit of an overdose. Jason had to stay behind, get better and fly out later. You stayed with him. Thank you for being there and making sure he got home safely.

Have I ever told you how much I admire you and Sandra and all that you do for your community? You moved to downtown Oshawa, gave a rather questionable residence a new lease on life, host weekly get-togethers with locals, and go around with coffee on weekends to share with folks who may not have fixed addresses. And I am sure you do a lot more I have no idea about. You are humble, modest, and generous!

You are an adored father and a special papa to your grandkids, too. That is obvious.

I looked up to you as a kid and I look up to you as an adult. I am very proud of you and love you. But what I REALLY want to tell you is this: I have been mistaken for your daughter on more than one occasion. And that brings me great joy!

I am very lucky that you are my oldest brother.

Happy Valentine’s Day,

Heather

PS. My middle name is spelled A-N-N.