Following his dreams

My brother-in-law has been dead for over a year now. He was 52 when he died of lung cancer. He had smoked for years and years as young adult, so that might have been the cause.

He and my sister were married for over 20 years, after they met at his workplace; she often took the tram he operated to reach her workplace, and he helped her (she is blind). They got a flat together, had two kids, then managed to fulfill their dream of buying a house to have more space. Later on they moved back to where he grew up, and built their own house nearby, completely made of wood. They were not even finished with the interior when he was diagnosed.

I remember him as a family man; he quit his job and stayed at home to help my sister, and he started selling the things he made as a self-trained wood worker. As soon they started living in a house, he always had his own work room filled with wood, machines, half-done figurines, and wood chips on the floor and the smell of cut wood everywhere. He was a do-it-yourselfer and fixed many things around their house, and he made beautifully carved furniture.

He had a short temper when he was younger, but he learned to control it, and I remember the many amiably discussions we had when I visited them – for example he had a thing for reading von Daeniken, about ancient astronaut theories and the like, and we would argue animatedly our respective points of view. He loved to motocycle and would often take me for a ride during summer. And he loved to cook and to have lots of people sitting around his kitchen table.

His family loved him very much, and he will be remembered.

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