My Brother Is Getting Old

I was scanning the obits yesterday and noticed a familiar name among the survivors of a woman who died in the town I grew up in – Guilford. I haven’t actually resided in Guilford since I was 18 and only visit about once a month, sometimes less, so often I can’t remember if I went to school with someone or my brother did or if I even knew them at all.
I called my brother, who lives in Guilford.
“Oh my God is he dead?” he asked, also recalling the name. "He's our age."
“No, his mother died,” I said. “I know the name but can’t remember the face. Did I got to school with him or did you?”
My brother, class of 1983, was pretty certain he was in my class - 1981.
“I think he lived around Guilford Lakes. He had blond hair,” he added.
I didn’t remember where he lived but did recall the hair color. I could see the head of blond hair and the outline of his body, but not his face.
Although we are only in our 40s, it seems each year my brother and I have more and more conversations about obituaries, mostly ones on the parents of people we grew up with. We also seem to have more difficulty recalling details about the names we see listed in the death column.
The most frustrating and embarrassing conversations occur when we can’t remember if someone we both knew from 30 or 40 years ago is alive or dead.
“I thought he was dead,” I’ll remark.
“So did I,” my brother chimes in.
“We are too young to be having these kinds of conversations,” I reassure him.

Let me know what you think.