29

My first baby turned 29 this week.  (Happy Birthday, Butch!)  I may be his sister in reality, but he’s been my baby from the very first moment we locked eyes on each other.

It’s so funny now to talk to the man who is my closest friend and remember the little boy whose diapers I folded as he slept across my lap.  He was this bitty thing with a mop of dark hair, an impish smile and a crowing laugh. I adored everything about him, and I think the feeling was mutual.

I can remember so clearly walking in the front door of our house in Florida after school and calling out “I’m ho-o-me!” He would squeak and squeal in delight, scramble off our mother’s lap and crawl or toddle to the door as fast as those chubby little legs would carry him.  I would swoop him up and kiss his fat cheeks as he screamed in delight.

It was from him that  I learned the wonder of that baby head smell, that holding a small child close can chase all kinds of monsters away.

When our mother was hospitalized after her accident, it was into my bed he crept, as our aunt slept in our parents’ bed and our dad sat at our mother’s side.  He snuggled in with his head under my chin and slept peacefully as my own scared tears fell into his soft brown hair.  It was this little boy who kept me going through all of my darkest days.  Just knowing that he needed me was all the motivation I required.

We have walked to Hell and back side-by-side, and very often hand-in-hand.

How do you describe in words the person who has seen you at your absolute screaming lunatic worst and then shrugged his shoulders and said, “Are you done yet?”  One of the few people who has seen you ugly cry?

The little boy I protected has become the man I rely on as my sounding board and confidant.  When did he get big enough to be not just my little brother any more?  At some point he became the man who challenges me, infuriates me, and supports me.  He is my cheerleader and my conscience and too often my voice of reason. He is the sibling that I hope and pray my own children will find in each other.

I was looking this morning at a picture of him from when he was 4, smiling at the world with innocent, trusting eyes.  What a difficult road was lay before that young boy, but it took all of that for God to turn him into the person he is today.

When I think of the man that he has become, I like to imagine that I had a hand in all of that, but I know it was only through the grace of God that we are here.  My brother has overcome mountains to become an amazing and heroic person.  I’m so proud to be able to call myself his sister, and even more delighted that I can call him my friend.

Happy Birthday, Doug.  I love you.