I still mother them….

My brother George lives in Isleton, California, more than 2,400 miles away from me. All the way across the country. But on the days when I need him most, I can hear his voice simply by pressing play.

On one particularly tough day, he left me a voicemail telling me to breathe. I saved it. I wonder if he knew when he left that message how many times I would go back to it. On the sad days, the angry days, the days when everything feels like too much, I know it’s there. I can listen to my brother remind me to just breathe.

There are days when my grief comes with anger. Understanding addiction doesn’t mean my heart always cooperates with what my brain knows. Sometimes I think about my daughter and find myself saying, “You knew what your brother’s addiction did to us. You saw what losing him did to this family. How could your children and I be living through this again?”

Those thoughts hurt to admit. My brain knows addiction wasn’t a simple choice. I know she loved her children. I know she loved me. But sometimes the hurting part of me takes over, and everything I understand gets buried underneath what I feel. I’m a mother missing her daughter and a Nonna watching her grandchildren miss their mom. Sometimes my heart is angry, even while my brain knows better.

On those days, I can listen to George.

There are days when I imagine myself as a dandelion wish blowing in the wind. No substance, nothing holding me together, just pieces of me being carried in every direction. And somehow, from the other side of the country, my brother reminds me that I’m strong. He tells me when I feel my weakest. I don’t know how he manages to say what I need to hear, but he does. Sometimes I borrow his belief in me until I can find a little of my own.

We didn’t grow up together because of life’s circumstances. There are years we didn’t have and childhood memories we don’t share. I wish we’d had that time. But I look at what we have now, and I cannot imagine my life without him.

In the mornings, while I’m drinking my spicy V8, I think about being there. Eating my favorite breakfast burritos, spending time with my brother, enjoying the everyday things that feel extra special when you live so far apart. I count the days until my next visit.

Today, I’m thinking about how grateful I am to have him. There’s comfort in knowing that voicemail is there before I need it again. When a hard day comes, I don’t have to find the right words or explain what’s happening in my heart. I can press play and hear a voice I love reminding me to breathe.

We didn’t get to grow up together. I’m just so grateful we get to grow older together.