The Family (part 5)

We, my brother and I, were born only 889,056 minutes apart, give or take.

So, I guess you could say that technically, we are not twins. But there is other, less numerical evidence to suggest otherwise. For instance; we looked very much alike when we were young. He was a bit small for his age and I was a bit tall for mine so for a number of years we were about the same size. Also, our Nanna was forever knitting us matching sweaters so often times we were dressed alike (much to our mother’s chagrin). We had matching crew-cuts too. Secretly, I always got a kick out of being mistaken as his twin by strangers at the grocery store who would stop my mother and say, “What cute twin boys you have!”

A guy could do a lot worse than to be my brother’s twin.

In our early years, my folks moved us a lot and so he was my best friend, by default. He was always around. On his presence I could count, even when others I knew were only transient in my life. When I remember any particularly fond moment from my early childhood, I need only to turn around and there he stands, right next to me.

Eventually as we grew older, we each got more interested in girls and got wheels under our feet and weren’t around each other as much. And that’s cool. That’s how it should be.

After he graduated from High School my brother moved away to accept a job. He still lives just a couple hundred miles from me but we don’t see each other very often. I could list all the reasons why, but they seem silly and poor excuses.

He’s a good man, my brother; a decent guy who does his best at his work and at being a good father and grandfather. Naturally, he has made his share of mistakes along the way, but that just means he’s real.

A few weeks ago my wife and I traveled to my brother’s for his son’s graduation. It was the first time we’d been to visit him in over a decade. He and I fell easily back into our banter, almost as if we were picking up where we had left off. The eye contact, the inside jokes, the knowing smirks; all evidence of our connection, our common history, our shared blood.

Last week he called me to let me know a question has now been raised about his health. In a few days he will be going in for a biopsy and we know what that could mean. He is quite nervous; I can hear it in his voice. I am too, although I try to sound optimistic and calm on the phone. I tell him things I’ve read on-line and send him links to articles. Even if the results come back positive, I say, there is still an extremely high probability for long-term survival. He says he knows, and he is trying to be stoic. But I know him; I can feel his fear.

And so, we wait, my twin brother and I, for the day he goes in for the procedure. And then we will wait another week for the results. With a little luck, the warning sign will be attributed to some other, less destructive disorder. In any event, I will be there; if not in body then in spirit because, whatever the distance between us, we have always been, and will always be, together.