This is me with my brother, Brian, shortly after we'd moved to Guam in 1972. I was 3. He was 6. We were adorable. Derek and Joshua were looking at the picture, and remarking at how big my smile was, and how Brian's looks a little off.
I told them that Papa had probably done something silly, and I was laughing about it, and Brian was talking through it.
Brian was always talking.
I miss that.
I never thought I would. Some days, his talking drove me absolutely bonkers. He woke up talking and he went to bed talking and then there was all the talking in between.
Joshua has picked up where Brian left off, though. I'm sure Brian is up in heaven, laughing at the fact that after so many years of quiet, my baby boy is picking up the mantle and running with it. But the joke is on him.
Because I love it. Yes, there are days when I think all the words are going to cause my head to explode. So. Many. Words. But when I hear the constant prattle and unceasing monologue that Joshua provides to my days, it reminds me of Brian and reminds me that there are never enough words. My 21 years of listening to him were just not enough. Each word becomes precious - like a flake of gold or a perfect gem. They can't be replaced and they can't be replicated.
Love you, BJ. Miss you every day.
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