January 12th, February 12th, and December 12th.

I am the last member of my family of origin - mom, dad, my younger brother, and me. In the summer of 2021, I had to chose grave markers for all 3 of them. They died at very different times, and when I was choosing the markers, I noticed that each life either began or ended on the 12th day of the various months.

-My brother died on 2/12, 1978, in a scuba diving adventure gone awry. He was only 23. Not married and no children.
-My dad was born on 1/12, 1921. He made it to 90.
-My mother died on 12/12, 2020. She was 98.

All were cremated. My parents never interred my brother's ashes, not did my mother inter my father's. I don't know why. Maybe it was too hard. My parents had purchased 3 cemetery plots about 10 years after my bother died, but that's as far as it went. Neither my brother's nor my dad's ashes were on display in decorative urns; just kept in cardboard boxes on a closet shelf.

Having to perform this filial duty for all three at the same time was quite draining emotionally, and I found myself feeling rather resentful that it had all fallen to me, and wishing that my parents would have accomplished this for my brother.

I miss them all, of course, my brother most of all. Your siblings are the ones who are supposed to still be around after your parents are gone. He's been gone so long that it sometimes feels as if I imagined him.

I don't think all the 12s mean anything at all. Just something interesting that I noticed.