As I come up on the fifth anniversary of my brother Gary’s death I think about how fragile life can be and how quickly it can change. I used to think it would be like it is in the movies; there will be a warning that something bad is about to happen. Like Jaws, the music is a telltale sign that we need to be on the lookout for the shark.
Yet the day my brother died was a beautiful day. My parents were visiting. They had just helped with the installation of our new countertops. We had breakfast and drove to Eden Valley to pick up meat. We parted ways there and I went home.
The police had been at my house and left a note. When I called, they said they would send someone out, they said they couldn’t discuss it over the phone. I had to pick up my kids from school and missed their second visit. The third time the police came to the house wasn’t until later that evening when my husband was home from work. I know in my heart that was God’s way of protecting me from being alone when I received the news of his death. My life changed on a dime. I never saw it coming.
Sandy Holthaus (R) and her brother Gary were best friends growing up. Only 10 months older, Sandy and Gary had many great adventures together, some of which are recounted here. Gary died tragically April 26, 2012, and as Sandy said when she learned of her brother’s death, “My life changed on a dime.”
I try now to remember the good times Gary and I had growing up in Schroeder. Playing with our baby deer. Picking apples in Grandma Allard’s yard. Building forts in the wood with the neighbor kids. Camping with my parents. Snowmobiling under the high lines. Playing cards and marble games. Teaming up to torture babysitters. (We even stranded one girl on the roof of the house.) Just about every childhood story starts with “Remember when Gary and Sandy did this or remember when Gary and Sandy did that? Remember when Gary fell in the well? Remember when Sandy was hit with the snow shovel? Remember when we all swam in the Temperance River?” and so on. We did a lot. My mom and dad kept us busy.
People ask how I recall so many stories from when I was a kid? The answer is simple. I was watching Gary. I was 10 months old when he was born. I remember seeing him standing in the crib. I remember seeing him wrestle with my dad. I remember seeing his face when he got his first truck. I remember watching him graduate from high school and standing right next to each other as we received our diplomas. I think it’s okay to let us talk about the loss of those we love. It’s okay to say their names and share stories about them and their lives. Because it’s in the remembering we keep them in our hearts.
“And when the angels ask me to recall I’ll tell them I remember you”
In memory of
Gary Lynn Anderson
Aug. 31, 1964 – Apr. 26, 2012
Taste of Home columnist Sandy (Anderson) Holthaus lives on a farm in South Haven, MN with her husband, Michael, and their children Zoe, Jack and Ben. Her heart remains on the North Shore where she grew up with her parents, Art and LaVonne Anderson of Schroeder. She enjoys writing about her childhood and mixes memories with delicious helpings of home-style recipes.
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