When I was eight, I got one. From England. All long legs and blonde hair. Rangy I guess would be an apt description. Tons older than me but he was exactly what I ordered. He play fought, he threw me in the air, he dangled me from goalposts - not an euphuism, he actually did that. A lot. And he took the Mickey out of me incessantly. He took my side. As I said, everything I ordered. He had demons, but never took them out on me.
When I came overseas. Again, he reverted to big brother mode. I loved it. He called me little sis. Hell, I loved being an only child of my parents. But I also loved having half siblings.
Today my big brother died. And I am in disbelief. I only saw him 6 weeks ago, he promised me fresh strawberries from his allotment. He's gone now. He's never going to call me his little sister again.
Yes, he had troubles and I don't think I could have changed them. Could I have been a better sister? Possibly. Would he have accepted any help? Possibly not.
My heart breaks for my dad, Peter's mother. No one should bury a child, no matter the age.
RIP Peter, my big brother.
Xx
such sad news......makes you realise you cant waste one day or one opportunity
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