“Sometimes siblings are raised in the same home, but only one gets parented.”
–Lori Gottlieb

My Interpretation: He got safety & I got survival. & he never once remembered to ask me – what that cost. We grew up under the same roof. But he never lived in the same storm. Never even noticed the thunder was louder in my room.

---

🧬 Brother by Blood, Not by Bond

He was the golden one.
The favorite.
The boy who could cry & be comforted –
while I cried & got scolded.

He got softness.
I got labeled “dramatic.”

He got understanding.
I got rules.

He was allowed to grow.
I had to survive.

---

📼 The Childhood I Cannot Remember

There are videos.
Of us as toddlers.
Playing. Laughing.
Like we belonged to each other.

But I do not remember them.
They have been wiped clean by the noise that came after.

The neighbor house.
The calls I had to answer.
The silence he kept while I was being hurt.
The friends he made while I was stuck.

He stopped going over.
I had to keep going.
Because someone had to be the “good kid”, right?

---

🍽 The Comments That Echo

When I started using food to cope –
He noticed.
& said I would get fat.
Said my metabolism would slow down one day.

I was a size 6.
Scared shitless.
& that’s the day my body became something to fear.
Not feed.
Not live in.
Just manage.

Thanks for the disordered eating, dear brother of mine.

---

🩸 The Fight That Made Them Proud

When I beat the hell out of that girl at school,
he watched the video.

Did not drive me.
Did not stand beside me.
But he said he was proud.

For once –
the family was proud of me for something.
For breaking.
For hitting back.

I had one hand holding my skirt
& the other holding everything I could not say.
He got to smile at that.

But he never asked what led up to it.

---

🎓 The Drift We Called Adulthood

He went to college.
More people died.
I kept showing up.
To his events. His milestones. His wedding.

Even gave him my old car.

He got married.
I made a speech.
I got him drunk. Got his wife drunk.
He was not impressed.

But it was hard.
Because Mom could not be there.
Because I felt like a stranger at a party
for someone I used to know.

---

👻 The Aftermath No One Spoke Of

Then Mom died.
& we stopped talking.

I sent gifts for his daughter.
Came to what I was invited to.
He never came to me.
Never once saw the home I built
from the ashes of the one we grew up in.

He came to visit Mom –
twice.
& then she waited for him to come again
before she let go.

Of course she did.
He was the favorite.
She gave him peace.
She gave me a checklist.

---

📓 The Wildcard He Still Is

He was not cruel.
He was not abusive.
He was just absent.
Emotionally.
Mentally.
Spiritually.

He knew I was hurting.
Knew our mom was hard.
Knew our dad was silent.

& he stayed quiet.
Said nothing.
Did less.

I do not need him to be a hero.
But god, I wish he’d tried to be a brother.

xoxo ♡