The Missing Piece

In the home of my childhood I sit in what is now my brother’s room.  I look around trying to remember if this was my room as a child.  I don’t remember but our oldest sister insists it was.  I lived here and moved away long before his existence was even a thought in our father’s and his mother’s minds.  No matter, the memories have faded and the room has been his for much longer than it was ever mine.

He has since moved on, a man with a family of his own, but parts of him remain here so I look around trying to see the parts of him I missed during the years I didn’t know him.  See, I met my brother for the first time just five months ago.

As I look around the room I try to take a walk backwards in his shoes and I wonder if he felt as I would have if it had been me that was not a part of the lives of my siblings…abandoned. rejected. resentful. alone.  But he and his room do not speak of such things.  They only welcome me with open arms as if I have always been a part of this life. I have found the missing piece of our family’s puzzle, I feel a love that was always there and I’m reminded of this quote…

“I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see.  I sought my God, but my God eluded me.  I sought my brother and I found all three.”  ~Author Unknown