Obituary Examples for a Brother or Sister

A brother or sister is the longest relationship most people will ever have. When one dies, the obituary often falls to the other, and it is a strange thing to write: you knew them as a child and as an adult, at their best and at their worst, and you were not their parent or their spouse, so nobody has told you what you are supposed to say. Say what you know. Every name and place below is invented.

The short notice (about 60 words)

Katherine "Kate" Dunne, 44, of Milwaukee, died on September 8, 2026. She is survived by her husband, Sean; her children, Nora and Liam; her parents, Patrick and Mary Dunne; and her brothers, Michael and Brendan. A funeral Mass will be held Saturday, September 13, at 10:00 a.m. at St. Sebastian Parish. Gifts to the Milwaukee Public Library in her memory.

A sister who died young, written by her brother (about 200 words)

My sister, Kate Dunne, died on Monday at 44, after a year of cancer she handled better than the rest of us did.

Kate was the middle child and never let us forget it. She was the one who told our parents when Brendan and I broke the window, and the one who took the blame for it a week later when she saw we were still grounded. She became a librarian, which surprised nobody who had ever tried to keep a book from her, and she ran the children's room at the Central Library for fifteen years, where several thousand Milwaukee kids think of her as the lady who did the voices.

She married Sean in 2009 and had Nora and Liam, who have her exact laugh and, God help them, her exact opinions. She called me every Sunday night for twenty-six years to tell me what I was doing wrong, and she was usually right, and I do not know what to do with Sunday nights now.

She is survived by Sean, Nora and Liam; our parents; Brendan and me; and every kid who ever heard her do the wolf. Mass is Saturday at 10 at St. Sebastian. Bring a book to donate. She would count them.

An older brother

Robert "Bobby" Castellano, 67, of Providence, died on September 4, 2026, after a short illness.

Bobby was the oldest of five and acted like it for sixty-seven years. He walked his brothers and sisters to school, taught every one of us to drive in the Stop & Shop lot, stood up at all four of our weddings, and showed up, uninvited and welcome, at every hospital, every funeral and every kid's game the family ever had. He was a union electrician for forty years, a Red Sox season-ticket holder for thirty, and a terrible singer who did not know it.

He is survived by his wife, Donna; his children, Robert Jr. and Christina; four grandchildren; and his brothers and sisters, Frank, Marie, Joseph and Theresa, who would like it noted that he is still the boss. Funeral Mass Saturday at 11:00 a.m. at Holy Ghost Church.

A twin

My twin brother, David Alan Price, died on September 11, 2026, at 52, of a heart attack, in the same week we were born.

We shared a room for eighteen years, a car for four, a college for four more, and, according to our mother, one brain, though she never said which of us had it. Dave was the loud one. He taught high school history in Dayton for twenty-eight years and coached the debate team to three state titles, mostly by out-arguing the students until they learned. He was married to Beth for twenty-four years and was the father of Claire and Sam, who are as loud as he was.

I have never been in the world without him. I do not know how it works. He is survived by Beth, Claire and Sam; our mother, Joan; and me, Daniel, the quiet one. A celebration of his life will be held Saturday, September 20, at 2:00 p.m. at Belmont High School, in the auditorium, which he would say is only fair.

A sibling who struggled

Some brothers and sisters die after years of addiction, mental illness, or a life that went harder than it should have. The obituary does not have to pretend otherwise. It can say the hard thing in one sentence and then give them back to the people who loved them.

Christopher Lee Hayes, 39, of Louisville, died on September 2, 2026, after a long struggle with addiction and depression that he fought harder than most people will ever know.

Chris was my little brother. He was the kid who could fix any bike on the street, the teenager who played guitar on the porch until the neighbours asked for requests, and the man who, on his good days, was the kindest person in our family by a distance. He worked as a mechanic, and he was a good one. He loved his nephews, who thought he was the coolest person alive, and he was.

He is survived by our parents, Bill and Linda Hayes; his sister, Amanda, who is writing this; his nephews, Jack and Owen; and everyone who ever got a free bike repair. A gathering will be held Saturday, September 13, at 1:00 p.m. at Cherokee Park. If you are struggling the way he did, please call someone. He would have wanted you to. He would have answered.

What only a sibling can write

• The childhood. Nobody else has it. The window, the Stop & Shop lot, the shared room. One detail is enough.
• The birth order. Oldest, middle, youngest, twin. It shaped who they were, and it is often the funniest true thing in the obituary.
• Where you stand. "His sister, who is writing this." You are allowed to be in it. You are the one who has known them longest.