Things I remember about my brother: He was very tall, good looking and lanky, bordering on skinny as a young man, despite his impressive appetite. He liked his coffee black, and he liked to quietly have a few rather than party. He was an enthusiastic and unapologetic smoker. He was shy, but whenever he liked somebody, that was for life. He worked a job that probably bored him most of the time. But he loved movies and music, he loved scuba diving, he sure loved his big fat cars, and the job paid for all of that. He was – very deep down – a romantic. I know no other couple who, even after more than 30 years, are quite that much in love as he and his wife D. were. As far as I can tell, they were always disgustingly happy.
Last week he dropped dead, just like that. He wasn’t sick, there was no history of coronary disease, there were no warning signs. His heart simply stopped, and now he’s gone.
His name was Martin, and he may never have had his 15 minutes of fame. But he was a sweet and gentle soul, and those who knew to look beyond the gruff will be missing him sorely. I know I will. May he be happy wherever he is now.