It had been six long years since I heard from my brother. Although to be honest I was the one that moved away not him. But still, he never attempted to contact me. I have always been a letter writer. I prefer writing to calling people because it is easier for me to share my deeper feelings with words on paper rather than on the phone.

I‘ve written to him numerous times over those six years and sent an array of birthday cards and Christmas cards. There wasn’t any response from him none at all.

I decided to write a note to my mother and ask her to ask my brother to write to me. She asked him, and he said he would and finally he did. Unfortunately, when I received the “letter” there was only an empty envelope and no letter. Apparently, he forgot to seal the letter or forgot to put the letter in the envelope and seal it.

The day I received the letter I happened to be looking out the front window of my apartment and notice that the mailman was in the process of putting mail in the mailboxes. I watched him as he walked away and then I took the steps two at a time down the stairs from my second-floor apartment. I pulled out the mail and I thought at first it was just more bills. But then I noticed a hand-written legal envelope. And I immediately recognized my brother’s address. I was so happy I couldn’t wait to get upstairs fast enough to my apartment to open it.

The disappointment I felt when I opened the envelope and realized it was empty was profound. Immediately, I felt a tear spring to my eyes. It just felt like a slap in the face. And it reinforced the feeling that I always held that my brother just didn’t care about me at all, not now, not ever. And that he didn’t like me.

The only other correspondence I received from him before was a birthday card when I turned twenty-one. On the front of the card was the legend, “Your parents didn’t know what true happiness was until you were born. And, on the inside, it said, “And then it was too late.” I never forgot what that card said and the effect it had on my self-worth and self-esteem was devastating.

My brother had a sarcastic sense of humor and I suppose he picked that card for me because he thought it was funny. But I did not. It just reinforced to me that my brother did not care about me or how I felt. It felt like a knife driven directly to my heart.

Please don’t tell me that I was being too sensitive. My brother knew that I was a sensitive person and yet he sent me that card. Actions and words have a power that can build you up or they can burn you to the ground.

Anyway, the day I received the empty envelope I called my mother and told her that I got an envelope from my brother but no letter. She must have spoken to my brother about it because a few weeks later I did receive a short letter from my brother. He stated that he had no idea what happened to the original letter and that he had looked all over for it and couldn’t find it. And so, this letter was going to be abbreviated because he was busy with his work and his family responsibilities.

He told me how his kids were doing, and how he and his wife had enjoyed their latest vacation. And he talked about his work. And then he went on to talk about our parents and other family members. He wished me luck and said that hopefully someday I would move back home or at least closer.

There was nothing I could really put my finger on and say he should have said this or he should have said that. But still, whatever it was that I needed to hear from him I didn’t hear it.

I can only speak from my perspective and speculate about how my brother felt about me. He never talked to me at length about anything. When I moved out of state, I was twenty-one and he was forty. We didn’t grow up together. By the time I came into the picture, he was a grown man. He joined the military, not by choice but because he was called up to serve. And then after he returned home, he went to college and later moved out of the country to study for his Ph.D. So, we did not share the usual experiences that siblings share.

But I can remember from a very young age of being in awe of my big brother. He was everything that I would hope to be in life. Someone who was a success, who set goals for his life and achieved them. He was a husband, father, and professional that was making a difference in people’s lives.

I used to brag about my brother to anyone and everyone that would listen. I thought he was the smartest person I knew.

When I finally moved back to my home state after seven years, I realized that living closer wasn’t going to magically bring me closer to my siblings including my brother. I made every effort to see them as often as they allowed which was usually on holidays. I also realized that if I was going to see them then I was the one who was going to have to go visit them, they wouldn’t be visiting me.

By the time I moved back home I was married. My husband and I stayed with my parents at my childhood home for about eight months and then we bought a small house in a neighboring town. We lived there for almost fourteen years. My brother came over twice in those years. We saw each other at family gatherings at Christmas, Fourth of July picnics, baptisms, and weddings and funerals.

It’s not as if there was any kind of animosity between us. We had never an argument or disagreement. It was more like we were strangers that occasionally met over the years at parties but never really got to know one another.

And now the years have flown by quickly. We had children and moved to a bigger home that we renovated. My brother came and looked at our house right after we moved into it and then about fifteen years later we held a family Thanksgiving and my whole extended family came including my brother came.

And my children grew up as children do. My husband and I retired and moved to another state. My brother seemed angry at me when we moved away and he stayed angry. Every time I called him, he asked me,” Are you still happy with your decision to move away? Are you finding what you were looking for? I would respond we moved here because it is less expensive to live here and the housing and taxes are cheaper. Otherwise, my husband and I couldn’t have afforded to retire at all. It was a difficult decision for me to move away from my extended family and one of my daughters. But it was a necessary one for us.

My sister-in-law passed away and my brother told me not to come to the funereal. I kept calling my brother and he persisted in telling me not to call him anymore. He said he would call me when he wanted to talk to me. And the last time I called him, he told me he never wanted to speak to me again. Five days later he passed away. To say I was heartbroken is to minimize the emptiness and heartache I felt and still feel.

I will never have the opportunity to talk to him and tell him how much I loved him all my life. And how much I admired him and looked up to him since I was a young child. I will never see his face again except in family photos.

It will be three years next April since he passed. I do not think about him every day as I did right after our last conversation. But sometimes at night when I can’t fall asleep, I think about him and wish that we had a closer relationship that many people have with their family members.

I will always miss my brother. I am still proud of all his accomplishments and all the people he treated in his practice. He was an intelligent man and a funny one. I can’t speak to his other relationships but I do wish he had made a space in his heart where I could have fit.

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