How to Write a Eulogy for Your Brother from a Lifetime of Shared History

“Tom was my older brother, which meant he tested every bad idea before recommending it to me.”

“Marcus and I competed for years before we learned how to stand on the same side.”

“My brother and I came back to each other slowly, through ordinary jobs and cautious conversation.”

I’m Devin, and Marcus was my younger brother. He spent our childhood trying to catch up with me and our adult lives pretending he had passed me years ago.

We competed over everything: basketball, grades, who could make our grandmother laugh first. That rivalry gave us energy, but it was never the whole bond. Marcus was the person who knew what winning cost me and when I needed permission to stop competing.

He built a life that surprised us. The child who lost every permission slip became an organized physical therapist. Patients trusted him because he remembered the work between appointments. He asked about the stairs, the dog and whether someone had help at home.

When our mother needed care, Marcus managed details without turning himself into a martyr. He made schedules, listened to the rest of us and admitted when he was tired. That year changed my understanding of my brother. I saw the patience his patients had known for years.

We still argued. Our last disagreement was about a grill, and I remain convinced that I was technically correct. Marcus would say that technical correctness was my least attractive quality.

His friends knew the musician who played bass on Friday nights. His daughter knew the dad who made lunch notes with terrible drawings. I knew the boy who followed me, the man who stood beside me and the brother who became his own person without leaving our shared history behind.

Marcus, thank you for the competition, the honesty and the years when we finally understood that neither of us had to win. I will miss being challenged by the only person who knew exactly where my confidence came from.

My brother Eli and I loved each other from a distance. Our lives took us to different states and we were both poor at calling without a reason. Still, whenever we met, the old rhythm returned. He remembered details from childhood that I had lost and made our family history feel available again. I regret the calls we postponed. I am grateful that the affection survived the silence. Eli, you were part of my beginning, and you remain part of how I understand home.