I am an only child, so I don't know what it's like to have a sibling. Not really. Some of my friends are close to their brothers or sisters, others have relationships that are downright contemptible. The dynamic remains a mystery to me. Yet, as an "only", growing up I was sort of adopted into my close friends' families. This gave me sisters and brothers both big and little. I was looked after, teased, pestered, spied on, picked up, turned in, hated, loved, envied, pitied and/or admired, all depending on where I was on any given day. And in true sisterly fashion, I gave as good as I got.
So it was hard to hear that one of those little brothers was sick. Even though he grew up to be quite the responsible man with wife, kids and the whole nine yards, he will forever be imprinted in my mind as the pesky kid bothering his sister and me while we dolled up to go out, or waking me up too early when I was hung over the next morning. How could time have played such a cruel trick? He'd been ill for quite some time, but over the holidays he took a drastic turn for the worse. Now, he's got a new liver to show for it. It's too early for predictions, but preliminarily things are looking good. We continue to pray. Let's hope the good news continues. Anyone who says you won't miss what you never had obviously never met the little brother that was never mine.