Many people are happy when September comes. Me not so much. I am a mom who enjoys summer best, hates when my son goes back to school. Could be laziness but I enjoy summer’s laid back lifestyle. I do not enjoy the schedule of back to school, especially the homework. September also reminds me of loss. My brother passed away 20 years ago and his Birthday was September 9th, then of course a mere two days later remembering 9/11, and thinking about all of those families who also lost those they loved. So with a heavy heart September is my nemesis.
Growing up I remember going to friends houses and if they had siblings they always fought with them. Some of them could get quite violent. My house was different; I had an older brother who from the moment I was born thought it was his sole duty in life to take care of me. My mom said I am an early riser because, my brother all of two and half years older than I, would climb in my crib to wake me up in the morning. Even then he thought he needed to take care of me. In Elementary school, my brother’s reputation followed me wherever I was. He was short but tough and could hold his own. One day walking home from school, there was snow on the ground, a kid was going to throw a snowball at me, then another kid says “you better not that is Andy’s little sister!!”, and lo and behold no snowball was thrown my way. In high school when everywhere you looked there was another clique that did not like you if you did not wear the right clothes or have the right kind of car. I was lucky to have a big brother who already paved my way. Even though he had graduated when I got there he was still looking out for me. He took me up to school before it started, showed me where everything was and because he still had a lot of friends in the school, they too looked after me, because of him.
A lot of siblings fought so much, they would not want their brother or sister around them or would be embarrassed to have them hanging out with their friends. Not a day in my life did my brother ever kick me out of his room, tell me I could not go somewhere he was going with his friends or treat me like he did not want me around, which from everything I now know about siblings this is quite rare. One summer he lived at the beach with his close knit set of friends, the most popular guys from school, one cuter than the next. When we would go visit him, he was happy and proud to have his family around him. He and my mother were best friends and he told her things I still can’t believe a son would tell his mother. To my brother, family was everything and he wanted to have six kids of his own. Unfortunately he never got the chance; cancer took him away from us at the young age of 22. To say he was my idol growing up and then my hero as he bravely fought his battle with cancer is not even close to describing what he was to me his little sister.
Today my brother would have turned 43, and as every year since he passed away, I am left with my memories and thoughts. Thoughts of what he would have been like now as an adult with his own family. Anyone that knew my brother would know that he would have had a beautiful wife, a few kids (not six) and at least two dogs with muddy paws. The saying “time heals all wounds" has to have been said by someone who has never dealt with the loss of someone they loved. The pain wanes but never goes away.
I hope wherever he is, he knows we are thinking of him today, and will never stop missing him.
