Pickles. Perhaps an odd place to start and an unsavory vegetable to some, (Here’s looking at you Slaw), but for me it seems like the perfect word to begin describing Thomas and my relationship. See to most our beloved R was a carefree joker, a characteristic one can only assume was developed after years of yoga practice, granola eating, and mantra chanting lifestyle. Thomas, yea right. His calm cool demeanor came about so naturally. Possibly at birth, as I have zero recollection of my brother without it. Possibly at my birth. As I have always imagined I have that calm cooling effect on those around me.? (Insert laugh track here from all family and friends who know otherwise…)

I have few memories of fighting with Thomas, besides the towel whips and horrific “Sorry Corey” constantly repeated in a poor attempt at a Scottish accent. Although he often made decisions that would aggravate me to my core, he was not a fighter. And there is something ironic about an individual who does stupid things but refuses to fight… They are impossible to fight with. One-sided arguments lasted less than a minute. Tearful rage dissipated with that goofball smile.

Back to the pickles and what was one fun March break day planned at Playdium. You see at the time Thomas was playing competitive hockey. (And ruling, because if you know Thomas you know he was untouchable on ice. Proud sister right here.) He was playing for the Leaside Kings, or Toronto Aeros, and my mom offered to bring a teammate with us on our day excursion to play video games.

We are en route to pick up his teammate, Sean Pickles, mom in the drivers seat, Thomas and I side by side on the middle bench, when out of the blue Thomas whispers in my ear “Pickles” in the most ridiculous cross-cultured (Jamaican/Scottish/British?) accent. Needless to say, being not one to take a goofy word in a crazy accent lightly, I erupted into laughter, filling the car with my obnoxious snorts and squeals. Well this reaction just egged Thomas on. He waited until I had gained at least the tiniest sense of composure then once again quietly whispered “Pickles”. A second wave of laughter rolled over, tears swelling in my eyes. How could one word ever be so funny? During the 10-15 minute drive the word must have been repeated 20 times. All with different intonations, accents, and volume levels.

When we finally arrived and Sean Pickles opened the door to the back seat I struggled to maintain composure. Of course the 11-year-old sister was suddenly invisible to the 13-year-old brother and his friend. So I sat quietly, wiping the remaining tears from my eyes as Thomas and Pickles talked about hockey, video games, and most likely food. Thomas was always talking about food. All the while the word “pickles” tumbled around in my head and I giggled silently at this great sibling moment just shared.

So to Sean Pickles – wherever you may be – Thank you. Thank you for unknowingly creating a Thomas memory for me that will last a life- time. I have never muttered or thought of the word pickle since without an accent or a chuckle.

Just one in a million moments, all different but all greatly the same, as I am not sure there is another girl out there lucky enough to have 3 amazing brothers and best friends. If you knew Thomas, than you know Mike and Matt, the four of us inseparable at weekend parties growing up. Losing Thomas most definitely left a hole, but I am so grateful to still have my Grandpa Schwamps and Adventureman. United we will always stand, in love, strength and one goofball family relationship.