I’ve touched on this before in a previous blog post, but tonight as I lay here, hopped up on caffeine and head drifting into curious realms, I thought I’d write it down.
A few years ago if I was asked how many siblings I have, I would have stated, two sisters and three brothers. Now I do not hesitate to cut the number of brothers, down to one. It feels weird sometimes to say it out loud, but it makes sense to our family dynamic now.
The two brothers who I no longer mention, chose of their own volition to remove themselves from the relationships they shared with all of our family members (who I now count as remaining). One of these two, I had not seen in many years so the breaking away of him from the family unit was not felt as a significant loss, at least not by me. The other, although his relationship with our family has always been strained, things were looking up and relationships seemed strong when he decided to break away from each of us with varying degrees of malicious intent.
It may seem callous of me to say that they are no longer my brothers, but after the turmoil they have caused my family, they in my eyes, are undeserving of that title. I’d call my friends my brothers before I uttered that bonding title to either of their names.
I don’t know where exactly I’m going with this, but it’s on my mind. Perhaps because when I look at Cal, I realize he will never meet those uncles, those cousins. And what a sad existence to voluntarily remove yourself from a family unit full of love, something many people wish they had.