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So many people have fond memories of jostling and friendship with siblings; families in challenge but unity. I write to those whose family was dysfunctional; each member trying to find place for personal survival.
My cousins became my brothers; my aunt and uncle became my parents. I remember Valentines Day when I turned 17-years old. My oldest brother, ten-years my senior placed a beautiful and simple card underneath my pillow. It was the first personal heart response I ever received from him. I treasured that moment when I found it. He had waited all day for me to find it. Then left the house for the evening before I could thank him. In his old age, we became great friends after his kidneys started to fail and I miss him terribly, the talks we were finally able to have about anything and everything. He had become my friend at last.
Over the years, it was this brother who came to my rescue, down payment on my first car to get away from a brutal and abusive father, a mother who insisted I be her little friend, and life in general. When I needed to scream, he listened and then just smiled. No judgment, no oration about anything, just a friend who understood. At the end of his life I finally heard him say, "you are the sister I had wanted." Love comes in many ways, his was silent and almost non-existent to the flesh but to the heart, it was spectacular.
In one of the last conversation we had, we talked a lot about the Jesus of his faith, and the difference in the Jesus of my faith. I can't wait to get to heaven and see if before his last breath he made the right decision.
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