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Thirty years ago we welcomed my baby brother, JM, into the family. I can still remember peering through the nursery window as the nurse rolled the baby cart containing my brother over to where we could see him. I believe it was my father who was holding me up so I could see, but I really just remember watching my newborn brother wriggle in his baby blanket. I had such a feeling of awe and curiosity. And so began my infatuation with that new person in my life.

When my brother came home from the hospital, I can remember sneaking into his nursery to watch him through the crib bars as he slept. I was only two-and-a-half years-old, so the height of the crib mattress put JM at my eye level. I was often caught in my brother's room trying to pull him through the bars of the crib or climbing the chair to reach the baby medicines and care products so I could tend to him. I am pretty sure I thought of JM as my very own live doll to take care of. My mother probably had to get creative in devising ways to keep me from unintentionally hurting my brother.

During our childhood, my little brother and I forged a close friendship in the face of family adversity. We shared secrets and were constant companions. At one point, I even switched rooms with my older brother so JM and I could share a room. We made up crazy dances, put on silly plays, played with G.I. Joe figures, and played outside for as long as daylight would allow. I remember giggles and whispers when we were supposed to be sleeping. And, I remember tight hugs and salty tears when there were things going on that we didn't quite understand.

For many various reasons, we slowly began to drift apart during our teen years. It didn't help that I left home at 17 years-old and got married two years later. Our worlds were orbiting in completely different circles and the chasm growing between was getting wider by the day. There were times when we would catch up and swap secrets, but those times were becoming fewer and further between.

One of the most endearing moments in my life was when I watched JM graduate from boot camp as a US Marine. As his platoon marched across the asphalt of the San Diego Marine Corps Depot courtyard, my heart was swelling with pride. It was so strange to see that little boy with white-blond hair standing in his military uniform. Even more striking was seeing my baby brother holding his own toddler son in his arms as they posed for graduation pictures.

More than ten years after that graduation day, JM is married with two children and still in the Marine Corps, although he went to reserves after serving in active duty. There are three states and fifteen hundred miles between us now. We are both busy with our own lives and visits are scarcer than they used to be. This is the way life tends to go as we get older. Things change; people change and relationships change, but those changes can't erase the value of the relationship.

I have been going through old photographs recently and so many of them bring back a lot of fond memories I have of my brother. In fact, some of the happiest times of my childhood were the times I shared with JM. The echoes of our childhood giggles and whispers have faded into silence as the years have passed, but the infatuation that began thirty years ago still remains etched into my heart, just as deep now as the day it began.

Learn more about this author, Jennifer Pemberton.
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