I understood. At least I thought I did. I stood in the living room of our Bishop’s home and watched him unite my brother and his bride in marriage, her 4 year old daughter and their newborn son in attendance. I knew that he was going away, I knew he had done things wrong and this was his payment.

The wedding was short and we went to a quick lunch after. I said goodbye and that I would see him tomorrow. He held on to me a bit longer than normal in our goodbye hug and I buried my face in his neck. I loved my big brother fiercely. He was my comrade against my parents, he was my playmate. Even though he was more than seven years older than me, he made time for me always. Other’s were scared of him but I knew he would never hurt me. My thirteen year old brain strained to understand the enormity of time in front of me. I gave him a peck on the cheek and turned to go and he swatted at the back of my head, which was normal behavior for us. He always had to whack at me when I turned my back.

The next morning after breakfast I asked my Mother when we were going to see him. She didn’t answer me and my Father told me he was already gone. I stared at them, not understanding. I was supposed to be able to go and say goodbye again. I ran towards my room, tripping in the hallway between our rooms. I didn’t bother to get up instead I stayed there, sobbing as though my heart was breaking. It was breaking.

I don’t know how long I lay there, hiccuping with tears running down my face. I eventually got up and went into his room, my breath caught in my chest and I couldn’t move for a moment, my senses taken over by him. I turned and ran out.

I asked my parents every weekend to take me to see him. They called the prison and were informed I wasn’t on his “list” so I wouldn’t be allowed in to visit. I cursed him for that. I finally received a letter from him, and in it he explained he didn’t want me to see him in prison. I didn’t understand the logic. I had seen him at the county prison numerous times, why was this different? I never really got an answer to this.

The next time I saw my brother I was almost 19 years old. I pulled into work and saw a huge man standing beside my parents van. I parked my car, my hands gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles white. I took a deep breath and got out of the car.

I took a few steps toward him and then started running. I slammed into him with everything I had, wrapping my arms around his neck. He picked me up and swung me around, while my co-workers watched from the windows with curiosity. I didn’t let go for a long time.

I was so happy he was home…and I’m beyond happy he still is.