“Where there is love there is life.”
– Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi (1869-1948), [Mahatma]

I’m one of those fortunate people who is blessed with siblings that are amazing and supportive and my best friends.

When we were younger, my brother, Todd, and I fought constantly.  We were the closest in age and we were rivals.  I was the goody-two-shoes.  I got the straight A’s.  I was the over-achiever.  Todd had the unfortunate act of being born after me.  To get the attention, he did the bad things.  He would
rebel at every turn.

I hate that we didn’t understand that back then.  I hate that we both suffered because we had to vie for attention in ways that children shouldn’t have to.

We didn’t really talk a lot in our teens.  We both had very separate lives.

When I got into my 20s, Todd was my hero.  When I hurt, he was there to pick me up.  When I needed rescuing, HE was my white knight.  He saved me more than once. 

I think he saved me from myself a few times.

In my mid-20s, I moved to Boulder, Colorado.  One day, out of the blue, I got a letter from Todd.  In this letter, he told me that he regretted that we hadn’t had a perfect relationship but that he wanted me to know that he loved me and that he would always be there for me.

I cried that day.  No one had ever said that to me and meant it.  I knew he did.

He hasn’t broken that promise.  He has been here for me.  He makes sure that I’m not alone on holidays.  He makes sure to call me a few times a week just to talk, just to stay in touch.

He’s still my hero.