I had another post in mind today, but then I saw this story in the paper.
I was reading the Globe and Mail and found an article about the former Prime Minister of Canada, Brian Mulroney. His son Ben and his wife just had twin boys (at a hospital not too far from where I work). It was so hard to look at the picture of Brian Mulroney with the twin boys, but something made me read the story. The first baby that was born was named after him. The second was named John. Brian Mulroney, as it turns out, had an older brother named John who died within hours of his birth June of 1935. They don’t know anything else about that baby and he said that it has troubled him and his siblings for decades. They have tried to reconstruct events, to interview people who might be able to provide some information and they have searched records with no result. He said that they want their brother John to know that he has never been forgotten and that they love the brother they never knew. They only know what city he is buried in, but they don’t know where. He said he often reflected on the sadness of the story and how powerless he was, even as Prime Minister, to make it right in any way.
I was so moved when I read this. Siblings don’t forget either. Siblings wonder and are troubled by what happened to their lost sibling, even 75 years later.