The fact that either of the two people in this picture are alive right now is something that I’ll forever be grateful for, yet never understand. I truly believe that the only reason that my older brother Eric is alive right now is because of Bradyn, that little man he holds in his arms. Eric is a complete mystery to me. He’s the closest brother I have in age, and he’s the person I am the closest to, yet know absolutely nothing about. He’s been battling drug addiction since before I can even remember. The first memory I even recall with him he wasn’t even there. I came home from day-care to my mother crying, sitting on the kitchen table with his belongings in boxes on the floor. I was too young to know at the time, but looking back on it now she had to go pick up her first born’s belongings, because he had been arrested. It wasn’t the first time, but that didn’t matter. It hurt her just the same. Until fairly recently, he was just a person in a picture. It was like looking at a picture of your great grandfather that you had never met. You knew they were a part of your family and made an extreme impact on the life you live today, but you never knew them. Then, the phone calls came. “Hello, this is a collect call from…. Eric. Do you wish to accept these charges?” One day, I was around ten years old, I did. I heard his voice, his thick Boston accent. He was surprised to hear from me say yes on the other line. I was always told to just hang up the phone after the words “collect call” passed from the operator’s lips. During the small-talk conversation, my Dad came home, and I’ve never heard him sound angrier. He’s not a yeller, my old man, but it took all he could to keep from calling the prison, forbidding him to call the house again. It wasn’t my choice that I didn’t (and still really don’t) know my older brother. I was forbidden to. I was brought up being taught not to trust this man, my older brother. I don’t know how many of you have older brothers, or older siblings in general, but if you do, imagine being forbidden to learn anything, or even interact with that person. To be forbidden to be taught how to catch a baseball, ride a bike, talk about girls, any of that big brother stuff. This man missed his chance to be a big brother. Now, he has the chance to be a father. To be a husband. To be the man that, when I look at him, I see. He’s got six months to look into the mirror and see the man he can become. He’s got a wonderful wife who loves him dearly, and I don’t know about any other member of this family, but he’s got a little brother who believes in him. He’s got a tattoo on his back of a rose bush. One large rose at the top for my mother, and two smaller roses beneath that representing my sister and I. He’s the thorn. He’s been clean for a few months now, and if he stays on the track he’s been on, he’ll be able to cover that thorn with a rose of his own. I’m reposting this. It’s my brother’s birthday today, and I haven’t seen him in over a year. I miss him terribly, and I’ll go through this year without seeing him again. We’ve been talking a lot more now, though. I write him now that I have the opportunity to, and I answer his calls whenever I can. That little peanut in his arms has grown up so quickly. He’s talking, running now. He’s the kindest, happiest child I’ve ever seen. He’d make his dad so proud. I was the best man at Eric’s wedding, and every day hope that he can have the opportunity to be a groomsman at mine. I love you, Brother. Happy birthday, I’ll see you soon.
