A Sibling's Identity Journey That Shattered A Family
Telling the story resurfaced the pain yet gave me hope
I was shocked when my brother died. We were never close, but he was only eighteen, and, to me at least, it was unexpected. What made it harder to comprehend was my sister's role in his demise and how it forever changed our family's dynamics.
Last week, I had to tell my twin sixteen-year-old sons the truth about their aunty. A truth I often struggle with. I didn't know where to begin — which is an odd sensation for a writer and storyteller.
Boys, I need to tell you a story…
I always found it hard to spend time with M. Four years younger than me, yet a world away. M was annoying — as all younger siblings tend to be, but at an extreme level. My friends could tolerate their pesky younger siblings, but my patience always wore thin with M. He seemed to exist in a different world designed to test me.
One day, when I was twelve and M was eight, I was assigned babysitting duties, a punishment worse than doing homework. I was walking with M to the park when, out of nowhere, a large and angry German Shepherd charged towards us, its frantic owner vainly trying to rein it in.
Run, M, run!
