Big Sister stuff

My brother used to come to my room when he was little and he needed help in the night. You see, he would sometimes have asthma attacks that reduced his breathing to strangled gasps. We both slept on one end of the lower level, and it was much easier to get to me than to get all the way upstairs to my parents' room. I would calm him and help him to the cool night air that would allow him to breath more easily. It was most likely born of necessity, but it always made me feel special - needed - that he would wake me up first.

My brother is older now. Neither of us live at home and, since he doesn't have a phone, it is difficult for us to keep in touch. I worry about him constantly. When the phone rings at odd hours, my first thoughts are of him. I know that he's an adult now, and I know that he has to make his own mistakes and choices. I respect that, remembering how desperate I was to be treated as an adult at that age, but I can't help wishing that I was once again down the hall from him, ready to hold his hand as we face whatever nightmare is troubling him. If only so he would know that he isn't dealing with it alone.