There are few things in life that people see coming, and nobody knows when a tragedy might occur in their life. I never thought that my brother, Ryan, would walk out on my family. David Ogden Stiers once said, “Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.” I would not have survived the strain that was put on my family, if I did not believe that no one is forgotten.
My brother and I were not like your normal fighting siblings. We got along all the time, which was a relief to my parents. We got along great because we were half-siblings, so we only got to see each other every other week. He was my hero and someone I could go to for help, especially since he was five years older than I. We were inseparable. I thought nothing could tear us apart.
It was a cold December day in 1999, and I was home sick with the flu. My brother came home from school and started his usual bickering match with my dad over math homework, so I tried to go back to sleep. But as I listened longer, the fight was getting pretty intense. The volume of yelling increased and things started to be moved around. I heard my brother blaming my dad for the time when I was attacked by our dog. They started getting into other problems, and all of a sudden, the yelling just stopped. Next thing I know, my brother stormed upstairs and slammed his door. A little while later, he came into my room with a big duffle bag. He told me he loved me and that he would be back, he just needed some time away from our dad.
Years passed, and he wasn’t back. It was fine, because we kept in touch by phone calls and letters, but as we got older, the phone calls ceased, and my letters were rarely responded to. Soon enough, he stopped sending birthday cards. I was really convinced my brother had forgotten all about me. I would pray every night for him to come back.
Then, when I was twelve, I found out that I had to have back surgery. If I did not get the surgery I could be in a wheelchair by the age of eighteen. The day before I was to have the operation, I received a phone call from my brother to wish me good luck. He said my dad had contacted him and told him about my surgery. He seemed so different, but that didn’t matter because I wasn’t forgotten.
After that I lost touch with Ryan again. But one day when I need him the most, he will be there, because I believe that no one is forgotten. Without this belief, my brother would not have called me. If not for this belief, I could not write my story.