Our siblings understand us like no one else does. (Unless, of course, they don't.)
Siblings share the formative years with us. And they share the longevity of memories with us.
They remember the same jokes, and they have different perspectives on the suffering. (Except, sometimes, they don't.)
Who else remembers why you had surgery 22 years ago? Who else remembers what you looked like at 13 even though you think you've destroyed all the photos? Who else covers for you at parties when you are laughing so hard that everyone in the room is looking at you? Who else knows how to make grandma's cheesy-mayonnaise toast hors-d'oeuvres? Who else picks you up at work when your water breaks and takes you to the hospital? Who else tells you lies so that you don't worry about the truth?
My grandmother and her sister were orphaned as children, and developed such a strong bond because of it that their children were as close as brothers and sisters for many years.
My mother and her brother have remained close despite the geographic distance between them for 40+ years. No one laughs at their jokes as much as they laugh at each other.
My father and his brothers just lost their mother, and although they are old-time cowboys who don't show emotion, their bond is strengthened in knowing that their collective memories keep her present with us.
My sister and brother and I, well, I've said much of it already.
Rafa and Louis hugged and hugged and hugged each other after two weeks apart.
Revisit Paris with Olive Us
10 hours ago