Brother
Looking back on my childhood, I would not say with certainty that I have had a happy one. Not necessarily an unhappy one but throughout my life, I have felt like I have grown up before a child should have to and as though I was shown the harshness of life before I was really ready to fully comprehend it. If I was to recall one memory from my childhood which has shaped me, I would find it hard to focus on any but the saddest times that I have gone through. One of the most significant events that I believe has affected me both leading up to, and after the event would be the disappearance of my brother. It happened five or six years ago, just after I finished year 7 around Christmas/New years, and has had affected who I am in more ways than one.
When you’re a child, you grow up innocent, oblivious to the horrible things that occur in everyday life. You are only able to see the good side in people. I think children should be able to stay young forever, to avoid having to go through the horrible heartache of losing someone whether that’s to death, or any other cause. I was not so fortunate.
As a child around five or six, my family would fight occasionally. My parents would fight, sometimes I would fight with them, or they would fight with my brother. My mother is my brother’s biological mother however my father is not his biological parent. Whether this had any affect on their relationship with one another, or whether it was just a clash of personalities, I’m not sure. I was too young to fully understand what was going back then. However as I started to grow up I started to grasp the concept of what was happening around me.
My parents and brother would yell at one another and then they would yell some more. I think they tried to hide this from me, but I noticed it. My brother would get upset over something, and yell at my mum and my dad would yell too. She would yell back and then my brother would yell back even louder, and then my father would just remove himself from the situation. Everyone would end up crying and I wouldn’t know why.
I remember that one year, sometime when my brother was 14 years old, he ran away from home. Maybe my brother had just had a fight with my parents, or maybe he was going through a tough stage and decided he needed to live some where else for a while. I was merely five years old at the time, and I distinctly remember wondering where he had gone. I believed it was my fault that he had left home. That maybe I had done something to upset him, or not been a good enough sister.
Eventually my brother came home months later and he worked out his problems with my parents. Not completely unfortunately because they continued to fight on and off afterwards for a long time. As I grew older, I grew even more confused. I had always thought families were supposed to love one another no matter what and support each other through tough situations so it was hard for me to grasp what was happening.
Christmas of 2007 my family had Christmas dinner like normal. My brother was not currently living with us, as he’s nine years older than I am and had already moved out, but he came over for dinner as well. My parents didn’t think I knew anything about their continuous fighting and his addictive habits. They were completely wrong, as I have always been quite observant and picked up on all the signs, even at a young age. I didn’t understand what all these habits meant though until I was a lot older.
We enjoyed Christmas dinner as usual filled with more food than is physically possible to eat, and presents for everyone. But there was still a slight uncomfortable feel to the atmosphere. By the end of the night, there had been at least one fight between them. They eventually came to an agreement with one another, to agree to disagree and my brother left for the night saying that he would, “See us on New Year’s Eve.”
A week passed and we didn’t hear from my brother at all. New Year’s Eve came and passed, still without any contact. I thought maybe he’d just decided not to come over after all because of their last fight, but over the next few years I grew more and more confused. As the years passed and contact continued to be non-existent, I grew even more worried. Even at a young age of 13/14, I knew something was wrong.
Years continued to pass, and still no contact has been heard. Every year gets harder and makes me more doubtful that I’ll ever hear from him again I am worried that we’ll move house and he’ll never be able to find us again and that terrifies me. That maybe he’s hurt, in trouble and needs my help but doesn’t know how to contact me now.
But it’s also affected me in so many ways more than that. I’ve grown up angry, confused and feeling I shouldn’t connect with others. Whether they’re my age or older, for fear that they’re going to leave or disappear on me. That no one should be a part of my life permanently because sticking around during my difficult times isn’t important enough to them, so why should those people be important to me? One day I hope to overcome this feeling and finally understand what has happened to my brother, and finally be able to let people in again. I come to the conclusion that I am who I am for many reasons and that all the experiences I’ve had are for a reason, whether they are good or bad.
