I remember when he was born, being afraid of crib death.
I heard on some television program that there was a risk for up to 2 years. I felt like I was holding my breath every day for 24 months plus a few more just to be safe. This memory comes to me as my visit with my brother comes to an end.
I was angry and anxious when he didn't arrive at a meeting place on time and he didn't call. When he finally called to say what happened, I was furious.
"I am going to kill you! Where the hell are you?"
I - am - going - to - kill - you
As the words came out of my mouth, I knew I had made a mistake. How could I say such a thing? What if something happened to him and that was the last thing I said.
"I'm sorry Rachel, I had no signal", he replied in a meek apologetic teenage voice.
He seemed unscathed, but I carried around a lump in my throat until I saw him again. Later that night I found somewhere to slip it into conversation.
"Sorry about saying I was going to kill you today. I have no idea why I would say something like that. it just wasn't-"
He interrupted me, putting his arm around my shoulder and grinned.
"It's ok Sis"