Although I was raised with one brother, I really have three: (1) Tom, my blood brother, (2) Ken, my brother-in-law through Nate, and (3) Bervin, my brother-in-law through Mary. These three brothers have blessed me beyond measure in ways I can never repay.

All three have consistently asked, “How can I help you?” For a new widow who’s felt weak and wobbly during these last months, there have been many answers to that question. These men have always gone the extra mile, beginning last September when Nate got sick.

Brother Tom stepped forward with strength when Nate could no longer go to the office, taking over immediate court dates, putting out fires and soothing anxious clients. Over the six weeks of cancer, Tom gradually assumed full responsibility for Nate’s legal practice, even to neglecting his own. Yet when I’d ask, “Are you just buried at the office?” he’d respond, “Everything’s under control.” I’m sure that was far from the truth, but he put Nate’s mind at ease when it was swirling with work responsibilities he couldn’t work on.

When it came time to talk to the funeral director, choose a casket, order flowers, discuss headstones, buy a grave and arrange the burial, I did none of it. Although Nelson and Lars stepped forward to shoulder that miserable burden for all of us, Tom appeared at the Chicago funeral home at exactly the right moment to support these faithful young men and share their heavy load on that heartbreaking day.

Brother Ken has been a constant source of reassurance and a promise to be my soft place to fall when needed. He made three 600-mile round trips to spend time with Nate during his six weeks of cancer, encouraging all of us with his strong presence. He rescued many a conversation with his ability to say just the right thing at the right time. Since Ken never married and lives an organized life of quiet control, it was a gift to us when he willingly stayed with 13 people in a chaotic household where privacy was unavailable.

Nate and Ken had a strong brother-relationship and kept no secrets from each other. They shared long conversations every Sunday afternoon, often visiting by phone for over an hour. Both shared an interest in history and current events, and both were well-read students of life. I know Ken misses his brother intensely, and yet when he calls or emails me, it’s all about meeting my needs.

Brother Bervin orchestrated a new water heater for me, including partnering with Nelson to install it. And I remember well the day he and Nelson rigged up a garbage disposal in my kitchen, something we’d never had at the cottage. Nate was feeling badly that day, and Bervin made a special point to work quietly for his benefit, despite the disposal resisting an easy hook-up.

Bervin also assisted with organizing Nate’s personal papers, patiently working with a sometimes-foggy Nate as his mind began to blur. He also reassured Nate that his two youngest daughters would do well in Wicker Park, since Bervin was their landlord and would keep an eye on them. Recently he took two full days away from his own interests to help me shop for and purchase my wonderful workhorse Highlander.

I remember the moment each of these brothers said goodbye to Nate on different days, knowing they wouldn’t see him alive again. These scenes make me cry even today as I think back, grown men wearing their hearts on their sleeves.

When I thank these brothers for their past and continuing help, they brush it off and say:

Tom: “Of course! You’re my sister!”

Ken: “That’s what I’m here for.”

Bervin: “Family first, you know.”

To me they are nothing less than instruments of righteousness in God’s hands, blessing me with strength during this season of weakness.

”The Lord said… ‘My power is made perfect in weakness’.” (2 Corinthians 12:9b)