In his stories, he was always the hero. It was an open secret that he was a fabulist. My father said his brother Leo was the same way, like it was some genetic trait. (In a way it was. Uncle Leo once told me a story about his sister Aunt Liisa straining at the potty and prolapsing feet of large intestine. My uncle Leo laughed like it was the funniest thing ever)
My brother's stories embarrassed me. I tried to stop him from talking when we were with friends. I didn't want him (and me) exposed to their ridicule. He resented this forever. He told me in a drunken anguish at age 45 that "I never let him talk".
My brother's stories lasted his lifetime. All his friends knew it about him and accepted that in him. None of his friends knew that he had a sister. This hurts the most. Have to stop writing now.. Crying again.