Missing You Already

 The text came to me late on Friday. It said that my younger brother and his wife were relocating this month to a bungalow in Pasadena. He said that he they were moving to be close to his wife's mother. 

Which is nice. Because his mother-in-law likes him a lot. And he is a ray of sunshine on most any occasion. 

Which is the part of this exchange that, for me, was not so nice. 

My younger brother has lived less than an hour away from me for nearly thirty years. When I initially moved out to California, I was on one end of the state, and he was living on the other. I was up north. He was down south. Then he moved to Minnesota. Then he moved back to California. Just up the road apiece from me and my new family. 

Somewhere in the mix was this phrase that came to us both from my mother. Something about not wanting "to be underfoot." We tended not to insinuate ourselves into one another's lives in spite of our relative relativity. But every time we connected, we picked up right where we left off. My brother. My friend. My companion through space and time. The one with whom I hiked the hills around out mountain cabin. The one with whom I shared my comics. After I was good and finished with them. We went to most of the same schools. Had many of the same teachers. Had many of the same experiences. 

Like the time our dad died. 

And the time our mom died. 

It was so good to have him there as a reminder of the strength of our family. Kin. Blood. 

Now he was relocating. To Pasadena. Which is more than fifty minutes away. Which is okay because I know where he is. I know that when we need each other, he'll be there. Or I'll be where he is. 

But I can't escape the feeling that somehow I missed a bundle of opportunities to engage more fully with that blood. My brother. 

I will hold those memories of playing Rock Band in our living room, or the collage parties in our kitchen, or the visits to his apartment when I would make a point of kicking the head of his panda rug. Birthdays and holidays and every days. But I still feel like I cheated myself. 

I want more memories. 

I guess I'll just have to make more of a point to find my way to Pasadena.