Day Twenty (posted a day late): Someone You Love
This is what I know about him: He's almost sixteen years younger than I am. He was born big and grew up to be several inches over six feet tall. His hair is brown, though he may have some gray in it by now. His eyes are not brown, and it makes me sad that I can't remember exactly what color they are. Hazel, maybe, like his mother's, or blue, but not a light, clear blue like his father's. I've looked at his photos just now, and still I can't tell. I do remember that his eyes have needed corrective lenses since his elementary school days. His mouth is definitely his father's, his smile extra-wide, and he has one of the best laughs I've ever heard. When he laughs out loud, everyone around him laughs, too.
He has a brilliant mind, a quick wit, and a great sense of humor. He's skilled in the field of technology. He's an avid cyclist, and he likes dogs. He's a strict but devoted father and, as far as I know, a loyal husband, married over thirty years now. I believe he's quite religious (which I am not), though I don't know that for sure. Because I believe he's religious, I also think he's politically conservative (which I most definitely am not). Again, I don't know for sure. What I do know is that he's someone I love. I wonder if he knows that for sure.
Every week I spend at least a couple of hours doing genealogy research, trying to learn all I can about people who have long since died. When were they born? Where did they live? What kind of work did they do? What was happening in the world during their lifetimes, and how did it affect them? While I'm digging out those details, it's always in the back of my mind that everything I know about my "baby" brother, the youngest in an assortment of full, half- and step-siblings, can be condensed into a few short paragraphs.
It's been almost six years since I've seen him. He lives only five hours away, but his days are laid out in a busy schedule, and mine are laid out in a carefully protected routine. I can't seem to manage a trip in his direction, nor he to find time to travel in mine. Our phone calls are delightful but infrequent, too brief to ask him all the things I really want to know.
I know I love him. I'd love to know him. Why am I letting so much time slip away from us?