My Little Brother

I can say my first honest heartbreak was when I realized my little brother was an adult, but I discovered it in the worst way possible. My little brother had always been my best friend, confidant, and there was no one I trusted more in the world. I remember playing super heroes, video games, action figures, and strapping our sister's barbie dolls to the ceiling fan. I know his laugh in a crowded room. I know his stance from a mile away. We have a trick we play where we can get one another's attention by staring very focused on the other one. And then I got a call at 2 AM that he was in prison.

Within the span of one phone call, I learned that my little brother's marriage had been on the ropes for a long time. I had learned that he had been battling an addiction for years. I had learned that the little boy whose hand I would hold when I crossed the street and to this day still panic when I look behind me and don't see him, was an encarcerated criminal. At first, I blamed myself. Why didn't I ask if he had been having problems? Why didn't I see that he was struggling? Why didn't I, of all people, not see that he was going down the wrong path? When did I let go of his hand? When did he stop being my responsibility?

I watched as the world turned against him, spat on him, and he lost so many friends and family. And he just sat there and took it, knowing that he deserved every bit of their hate. I couldn't stop it! I couldn't stand in the way of the bullets being shot at him! I couldn't protect him from what these hateful people were saying! I had let go of my little brother's hand while crossing the street, and the cars were barrelling at him, but I wasn't able to reach him in time. I remember once when he tripped fell, breaking his nose. My heart had stopped and I screamed for help as I tried to stop the blood.

The little boy I held when he was so small was bleeding out now, and no matter how much I screamed for help or tried to defend him, I failed to save him. I wasn't and never will be angry at him for what he did. Hate can't live where love is the driving force. When I visited him, he didn't want to look at me, but I reached out to hold his hand like I used to. I told him, "I'm glad you're being so strong. I can see how much this is hurting you. I'm so proud of you, little bro, for being a man and taking responsibility." And we cried and held one another.

I little boy crying with a broken nose.

I man crying with a broken life.

But he is still my brother, my best friend, and my confidant. He's pulled his life together with the help of his wife, true friends and the family that helped him to heal. But he can stand tall now, because he decided to do the right thing. I'm so proud of him, and he will never know how much. My little brother became a man in the short span that I accidently let go of his hand then turned to look for him.