It's Never Too Late

Trying to have a relationship with the brother I never had the opportunity to know.

Monday was a very emotionally taxing day for me, and it started off quite innocuous. A message sent to me via Facebook Messenger. A phrase repeated multiple times in just a short message.

I don't want to bother you, but…

It was my little brother, whom I haven't seen since 2007 when I married my ex-husband. Whom I have no relationship with at all because of life circumstances, even though I've always wanted it.

My Brother was born when I was 15 to my dad and my stepmother. They split up and separated not long afterward, and of course she took him. Out of state, straight to New Hampshire, where she had some family. Because the their separation, o never got to know my brother. Didn't get to watch him grow up.

When I think of My Brother, my brain automatically thinks kid. Because that's all I can remember him as, and that barely before he was taken away from me. He's 30 and I'm 45, and in my head he's still a kid.

But the thing that hurt my heart the most was that line I posted above.

I don't want to bug you.

He was asking me about my hEDS. He was having symptoms. He assumed that his issues came from our dad, as that's the only thing we have in common.

You bet your ass they are, I said. The autism, the hEDS, the dyslexia, all if it came from him.

The hesitant question turned into a two and a half hour long video chat. A video chat where two autistic siblings looked anywhere but at each other. Because that's what we do.

When I read his first little message, I recognized the Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (RSD) immediately. He's always been a bother. Always too much. Too many issues.

Just like I was.

We talked talked everything. Our lives. Our parents. The messed up way we were raised. Our health. I warned him to watch for autoimmune conditions, like the MS I developed.

I told him if my trailer were big enough, I would have found a way to get him from New Hampshire to Tampa.

This kid has never been chosen by anybody.

Not by my dad.

Not by his mom.

Not by any friends, or siblings, or other family members.

I needed him to know that I would choose him, if I could.

I repeated to him, over and over: you are not a bother. You will never bother me. Any day you need to talk, just send me a message to make sure I'm up.

I don't know if he understood the message, but I hope he did.