Broski, if you’re reading this, just know I’m not doing it to embarrass you. Rather, It’s because I’m very proud of you.
You know how annoying and out-of-the-loop I’ve been since surgery, and I want you to know how much I appreciate your patience. You listen to me, despite the fact that I’m horrible at remembering some stories you tell me. I get so sidetracked easily, it’s daunting.
I remember the day mom was in the hospital and I had to go to school. I was in grade 2, anticipating the new role I’d have as being an older sister. I remember my dad telling me, “I’ll pick you up after school.” You were born at (this time) on September 5, 1997. It was a Friday and all I could think of was, “I’m gonna meet my brother after school!”
Dad came to pick me up and the butterflies of excitement churned in the pit of my stomach. Parked the car, walked in, knocked on the door. There he was, laying in a little crib beside mom. She had been in pain because he was such a healthy baby! You were sleeping, with your hands curled, wrapped in your little mitts. Everything about you was little.
Meanwhile, nearly 20 years later, he’s over a foot taller than me, knows more of what’s happening in the world, and always has a new fact or story to share.
He’s aspiring to work in the food industry and I have full confidence that he will reach his dreams. I’ve seen him fail, almost give up, and struggle to make our parents proud.
But here’s the thing, he’s never failed to make me proud. Although he’s younger than I, he’s done more for me than he thinks.
This post is dedicated to you bro, thanks for always being you. Here’s to more jinxes, food adventures, and awkward moments.
I’ll end this post with a quote a friend shared with me:
Shoot for the stars, but never lose sight of the flowers.
Do it up bro. I love you. I mean it!