When you grow up with four older brothers, you get used to the jokes about having your own "army" of body guards to chase away anyone who hassles you -- and to screen the guys who show up at your house, asking to take you out.
My brothers might have chased away an occasional playground bully, but I spared them the need to discourage potential boyfriends by not having any until I went away to college. High school was, um, not much fun for me, but I got through it -- in large part because of one big brother and his fiancee (later his wife), who made sure this gawky, self-conscious, over-protected introvert wasn't stuck at home (even though that was often where I wanted to be because I felt safe there).
They spent time with me, took me fun places, made me laugh. And over time I began to break out of a shell that once threatened to suffocate me. They pretty much saved my life.
I hope I told my brother that. I owed him that much. All the things I wish I'd told him have been on my mind these past few weeks since he succumbed to an illness he'd been diagnosed with only a week before his passing. There's never enough time to say all those things we meant to say, is there.
I used to bemoan the fact that I didn't grow up with a sister, even though it meant I got to have a room of my own and didn't have to wear hand-me-downs. No, I had brothers. An abundance of brothers. It took me a long time to realize what a blessing that is.
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