I wanted to have my children born close in age so that they would share a lot of the same experiences. Yes, one would be older and hopefully guide the younger one, but they would be in the same schools and be best friends.

Nick and Stephen were born 2 years and 2 weeks apart. Nick definitely played the big brother role very well, translating Stephen’s baby talk, making him laugh, and saving him from rolling off the couch, even if Nick instigated it.

They got their first Game Boys together, had joint birthday celebrations, practiced karate on the same night, built Legos, and often would be found cuddled on the couch watching Pokémon or Blues Clues or reading.

They were always together—fighting, wrestling, and arguing included. It felt strange when Nick went to kindergarten. The boys sat together waiting for the bus and then . . .  they were separated. New friends, different experiences, traveling different paths. Little brother missed his exuberant older brother, as did I.

I have hundreds of photos of them arm-in-arm, head locked to armpit, piled on top of each other, hugging, snuggling, sleeping, fighting and loving one another as brothers do.

Sure it’s never enough, but when I look at these photos, I see love, trust, and a brotherly bond that time and space can never take away. I see two boys excited to venture into the world of school, sports, other friends; yet always dedicated to one another.

I see a big brother speaking up for his little bro just as much as he aggravated him. It went both ways but Oh, the Love that tied them together. Thicker and tighter than any knot.

Always together. Forever apart. It’s a dichotomy that splits me during this month even more than any other.  

My boys are always together in my heart.