I unexpectedly met one of my brothers a week or so ago. We didn’t speak at all. It was a ludicrously painful situation that I could never adequately describe to you.
Separated by two feet, it may as well have been two thousand miles. Probably only a thirty second encounter in the lobby of a local bank but it felt like forever. And although I was with someone, it was a moment I felt truly alone.
Not that I am ever alone at all but it’s easy enough to come over all melodramatic when you are literally blanked by your own brother. I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I was OK. That hurts. A fair bit if I’m totally honest. And I’m a more emotional being than I often admit.
But this isn’t going to be a sad little post. If anything it was a truly galvanising moment. I allowed it to happen as much as he did and now I know exactly what to do next.
Which is just contact him. It’s entirely within my power and I have nothing to lose. We can’t speak less than we currently do and I choose to believe that like me, he maybe had no clue where to start the conversation.
But now I finally do. It starts with “Sorry”. Not for being Transgender but for handling telling him so badly and hurting him deeply in the process. I can’t take that back and it kills me. And right now, he has no idea how much.
I’ve decided a letter is the best choice. It may lead to nothing but I’ll know that I tried. And he’ll hopefully know that I care whether he responds or not. That seems a safe enough risk to me. Too long has passed already.
Regardless of whether it works out, I will always love both my brothers. I’m not willing to do nothing any longer though. I am hopeful. And scared. If not terrified. But there is a phrase which is starting to feel like a personal mantra to me. There is always tomorrow. One day will be that tomorrow for us.