I have a brother from another mother, which you may know from some of my older posts.
The knowledge of having a brother I've never met is one of those cyclical issues that comes and goes and carries importance when it is on my mind. I mean...hello..I have a brother!! As an only child this is big news.
Ok let me back up a bit. I have known since I was age two that I had a half brother so that news is hardly news. I even did meet him once (I know, I just told you I hadn't!) but since I was only two or three years old, I don't count it.
All my life, I imagined meeting him, since this before-I-was-with-it encounter was our only bit of communication ever. My family never ever contacted his family and vice versa. Heck, I'd have doubted his existence, since there were no photos, no one talked about it, no one knew his age or really...anything; but see I believed my dad when he told me I had a half brother, even if that is all I knew.
I spent a childhood of loneliness (I was an only child) imagining meeting my brother, what he looked like, what games we played...always this dream I knew would never happen, but hope and dreams are comforting no matter how ridiculous.
Through the magic of the almighty google search engine (and proding of my mother who could provide his and his mom's first name), we found one another. Well, more like he found out I was looking for him and contacted me. He contacted me!
This happened maybe five years ago and I took a few days to get the guts to call him. Isn't that weird? Finally I get to talk to my brother after almost three decades of dreaming and I don't jump on it? When I finally call, shaking like a leaf, we both don't believe we are who we are and the conversation is short and awkward. I mean, sure you have nearly thirty years worth of stuff to say but really what do you say?
Now we are Facebook friends and I send him brief and cordial birthday and Christmas greetings and he always sends his thanks and regards. But that right there is our entire relationship, a few sentences worth. I'm both disappointed and elated.
Just last week, he "liked" a photo of myself and my youngest son. He liked my photo! Gosh, I'm like a pathetic infatuated teenager here. Big deal, he liked my photo...but it was the first thing he has "liked" on my Facebook. And just today, he liked my status from yesterday. Part of me says big deal, means nothing. Part of me is all, yippee he knows something about me now! He cares! And a part of me knows not to build up unrealistic fantasy scenarios and expectations and enjoy what I've got.