He ain't heavy...he's my brother

I’ve always been somewhat of a solitary person, which I can largely attribute to being an only child. Growing up, it was just me, my mother and Holly, our clumsy (but large-hearted) Old English Sheepdog. I had no brothers or sisters, and while I can’t say I found myself pining for a sibling, I did think that having one – a best friend by default, someone who’d be there to talk to, share with – would have been kind of cool.

That all changed when I was in grade four and my stepmother announced that she was going to have a baby. Suddenly, at age ten, I was going to be a sister. It was like one day I went to bed and the next day I woke up and had a brother.

A brother!

When Darryl finally came along, I was overjoyed. I thought he was the most beautiful, perfect thing in the whole entire world. I wanted to do something special to mark his arrival, so my mother took me to the craft store and helped me pick out a do-it-yourself flower holder kit, shaped like a teddy bear. She sat with me at the dining room table, helped me pencil an image on to the wooden frame and showed me how to make it look like the bear’s coveralls had stitching around the edges. It was a gesture that went largely unnoticed then; at ten, the weight of that kind of situation, of course, was beyond me. When I think about it now, of how my mother put aside her own feelings to make sure that I got the most out of that monumental moment in my life...it makes my heart swell, even now.

When my brother Neil was born two years later I remember feeling very lucky – quite special, really – to have two brothers. Never once did I consider them to be my half brothers, they were my brothers, through and through. Despite the fact that I wasn’t all that close to my father and his new family as I grew up, the love I had for my brothers never waned.

It wasn’t until I was in my early twenties, however, that I got to know them outside of the occasional Sunday dinner and obligatory holiday gatherings. Over the last several years I’ve become very close with my father and younger brother; we’ve gone from large lapses in communication to seeing each other several times a week. My dad and Neil are a huge part of mine and my family’s life, but for the last few years there’s been a glaring absence: my older brother, Darryl.

He’s been living in Ottawa, going to university and living with his girlfriend, then not going to university, working at a hardware store and living with his girlfriend. We’ve kept in touch since he’s been gone, but it’s been sparse. I’ve missed him, not to mention the chance to build a relationship with him the way I have with Neil.

When I found out earlier this summer that Darryl was moving home, I could hardly contain my excitement. I couldn’t wait to see him, to hang out with him and see him spend time with my children. When he walked through my front door last Tuesday night and wrapped his arms me I felt this surge of happiness – he was here, he was home.

That night I sat in the den with my husband, my father and my two brothers, and in that moment, surrounded by my family, laughing and talking and drinking beer, I felt whole. My family was together, we were under one roof together, and it made me feel complete.

Welcome home, D. I’ve missed you.

:::This is an original Canada Mom's Blog post. Mamatulip blogs her life at Where am I going...and why am I in this handbasket? and keeps it green over at The Green Mom Review.:::

(Photo used with thanks to Rick)