I’m 48 years old. I am the oldest of my mother’s children, but not the oldest of my father’s. We did not have the opportunity to share our lives with his first family, we didn’t meet them til we were teenagers. I am not sure who made those decisions or why.I regret that our collective parents didn’t see the importance of what those connections might have meant. Not just to us, but to our kids and their kids.

I regret that as an adult, though I thought of it often, I never made honest attempts at connecting.

And now, as one of dad’s children prepares to leave this place, these regrets have taken over my consciousness. I grieve for the big brother I don’t know, that I never knew. I grieve for a sister-in-law and niece, who I met long ago, but now wish I could be sitting next to and offering my support. Family should be an anchor during rough waters, and though the blood going through his veins also runs through mine, I am not family.

So, although it may not be the kind of love that we share with those we know closely, there is a “love” at work here. A love that stems from a commonality, a father, a bloodline. A love for another part of me, a part I never got to know, but deeply wish I had. A love that wishes peace, comfort and acceptance for what comes next.  And a wish…

A wish that we meet again. I truly believe that in life our souls recognize and gravitate to each other throughout time. The people who we know now, we’ve always known, in many lifetimes, in one form or another. With all of my heart, I hope this to be true.

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I wish you peace big brother….