My Brother

I regret never letting him know I did love him. I regretted being so angry all the time at everyone and everything.

And don't worry, he's still alive and he's living his life-- if not happy, then he's content.

My brother is 29 and he checks the boxes of what you expect a man to be-- of few words, minimally affectionate, stoic, and lifts weights.

This is the story of how I found out, just how deeply my brother loved and cared about me. Keep in mind for much of his life I was a dumb kid too wrapped up in herself to look at things too closely.

I remembered my brother as an awful tease. But he smiled, he had shaggy hair, I did like his face when it looked happy. I liked how he used to let me stand on his legs and he would hold me by my wrists so I didn't fall off.

He called me small a lot. Back then I hated being small, I hated being a girl. I hated that my emotions were too big and I hate when I yelled at him.

My brother started napping. A lot. He wouldn't go to school or he would be taken by force to school in the morning. Just to walk back home.

He didn't speak during the week. He was only my happy brother on weekends. I didn't think much of it, of course he hates school. That's why he goes quiet and looks all sullen-- after all, he just plays his videogames, he isn't too smart.

How do you apologize for thinking that way? I wish I could one day.

I was a kid but he's family, I'm in the house with him everyday, and I worried but I never did anything.

I even yelled at him and said I wished he wasn't my brother. That he were gone.

I think it was only in my teen years that it hit me, my brother had been depressed and only just got effective help in his twenties.

But the person he'd been back then-- who laughed and teased me to no end-- wasn't there anymore.

And I didn't understand emotional nuance at the best of times.

To me, my brother had suddenly grown all too distant. He didn't speak at home, I didn't know what in the world I could talk to him about.

I love him but back then I wondered if that love was reciprocated.

When I was nineteen I realized his love was a constant but silent type.

My brother, so tall and wide, like a wall or a mountain could be surprisingly gentle.

When he hugs someone, especially a small, five foot anxious mess, I could completely hide in his chest.

I broke down mid spring break because I hadn't had a spring break all week and I realized I'd missed an exam that semester when I was nineteen.

He let me bury my head in his chest and cry.