Good grief

On the morning of May 1^st, my younger brother Tony died suddenly. This afternoon, under a beautiful spring sky, we buried him. He was 33 and lives on through Lauren and their children Joseph, Anthony, Maria, Elizabeth and Lucia.

A few nights before he passed, I mentioned to a friend how blessed I had been in life to reach my forties without losing anyone close to me in an untimely fashion. Little was I to know what would happen a couple of days later.

I’ve been taken aback at how Tony’s death has hit me. The grief is unlike anything I have experienced before. I’m normally a fan of stoicism, but on this occasion I’m trying not to ignore the feelings that have been unleashed. Instead, I’m attempting to surf the waves of grief that come my way, and embrace the moments where I fall and get temporarily sucked under.

He was such a smashing guy. The memories of him shared by friends and family have been inspiring, hilarious, and heart-breaking in equal measures. It is clear that the teenager voted “Boy of the Year” by his Sixth Form peers went on to be a treasured member of the wider community. Again and again people have mentioned his kindness,  and an ability to form and maintain relations with all sorts of people from all walks of life.

Tony was a man of faith and family. Where I moved away from the religion of our upbringing, he remained a committed Catholic of the most traditional flavour. On all sorts of issues, we held very strong, and very different opinions. This could have been a source of tension or argument, but it never was.

We generally chatted about the usual sort of things – kids, work, childhood memories, our disappointing lawns, and so on. However, when we discussed more provocative topics, he never let things get personal or descend into an argument. In this way and many others, he was one of life’s diplomats. Where others might have pulled back, he forever tried to balance responsibilities and respect, to seek common ground and maintain relationships.

This trait of Tony’s keeps bubbling up in my mind when the grief tries to pull me down. Angry arguments have dominated our country in recent years. We’ve increasingly celebrated division over diplomacy, purity over pragmatism, and cynicism over compassion.

I’ve certainly played my part in this at times. I was already rethinking things these past few months, but Tony dying has brought into focus for me an example of how someone can make a difference in a really positive way. I wish I’d seen it and told him before he died – not that he’d have accepted the compliment if I’d given it, as he was modest to a fault.

Instead I’m left trying to work out how to extract positives from his passing. He was strong of opinion yet had friends from all over, and I’m convinced I can learn from this. And while he is no longer here to bring people together, we are and we can*.

I want some good to come of this grief. Kindness and respect towards others were his hallmark; I’m going to take time to figure how I can make it mine too.

Anthony Keith Lehain
4th July 1986 - 1st May 2020

* He also once forward-rolled for a mile for charity. I’m not sure what we can take from this, but I’m never shy of making tenuous links between things, so anything is possible.