Me and my brother

One of us is in trouble. Again.

I have a brother.

He’s eighteen months older than me. Though when we’re together, we both act like teenage boys.

(Sibling Revelry.)

He’s married to my sister. Okay, so she’s not really my sister. That would be incestuous. But it feels like she is.

And they live far, far away. Three thousand miles away in Northern California.

So we don’t get to see each other that much. A couple of times a year. But technology helps us keep abreast of what’s going on in each other’s lives. So I feel closer to them than that.

When my friend Martha died a few weeks ago, I was heartbroken.

(And always will be.)

And I needed the two of them in a brother-sister way that only they fulfill for me.

Multiple emails, texts and phone calls. Before, during and after the funeral. Checking in on me. Sharing their disbelief. And their sadness.

It all helped comfort me.

And, after the last few weeks’ events, I’m even more grateful and excited that my kids and I are heading out to visit them for our Spring Break.

I really want to be with them.

I need to be with them.

To laugh. To reminisce. To hug. And to cry with.

So my brother and my sister, thanks for being you. I love you both. I would say “more than you’ll ever know” but I think you know.

I can’t wait to see you.

Caswell Beach back porch

At the beach (Many hairstyles ago.)

Caswell Beach front porch

At the beach
(A different year. But still a long time ago.)

 

Images via Maggie Evans Silverstein (AKA Mom)

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P.S.: I like making people laugh. So at some point I’ll write something funny again. Like Just Another Vagina  or How Not To Order A Martini.

I’m just not there yet.