I am sorry.

I remember the exact moment when my relationship with my brother changed.

For many  years we were buddies, we were trouble makers together. We had a system. If something was found broken or a picture was drawn on the wall we would always answer with an I don't know when asked who did it. We would share the punishment, even when we knew exactly who was the culprit. But one day I changed this all. My brother and I had been having an argument, the subject so insignificant that I can't remember it today. My dad had extreme mood swings, ranging from dissatisfied to angry. He heard all the noise and came into the room asking what was going on. My brother played his role and said nothing was going on. My father asked why we were arguing. My brother said he didn't know. Instead of playing my role and answering with our go to responses, I said that my brother had done something wrong. My brother took the punishment on his own.

Later that day he was hurting, in order to take care of the pain he did what most little kids do, he slept. As he was dozing off I had asked him if he knew about some money that I had been saving up for the bookfair. He was my prime suspect, but he had always said he didn't know.

As he was falling asleep I asked him again. I remember distinctly saying, "Just tell me the truth, I promise I won't be angry." I said it with some conviction that even I believed it at the moment.

He sleepily and wearily replied that he had indeed taken the money. I didn't ask what he had used it for, I didn't ask if he still had it. I remember being so angry, so angry. Anger like my father so often displayed is what I was feeling. And instead of keeping my promise, I began to yell at him. I probably hit him too. This noise caused my father to again come in the room, not yet cool from the last confrontation. At that moment I wanted revenge, I wanted to be paid back for what was taken from me. I told my father what my brother had done. My father then continued to thrust my brother around and leave. My money was not replaced and I was not satisfied. My anger was still seething and I made sure my brother was aware.

The next day I went to his teacher and told her that my brother had taken money from me that I was going to use to buy books from the book fair. They then went to his desks and found that he had used the money to buy books for himself. Books that my parents could never give him. Books that satisfied his inner child, books that he loved. And I watched while the teachers told him he had to return them. I was handed back my money and I purchased books for myself. Books that I don't remember, books that I probably didn't even read. I hurt my brother. I continued to be angry at him and remind him of his failures. I hurt my brother, I hurt him and I didn't feel any remorse at that moment. I haven't felt any remorse for a while. Until today.

I was doing a bible study about Jesus's sermon on the Mount. In chapter 5 verse 40, "and if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well." Later in the study we were asked to draw upon a situation where someone had sued us (stolen) from us, how we reacted and how we should have reacted. And I remembered this moment. And I took some time to reflect on it. And I realized what a bitch I was, and have been to him most of his life. And I feel like someone just called me and told me that my mom was in the hospital. And I have this sense of desperation, this I need to make this right feeling, because our broken relationship is all my fault. And most of all I am sorry. I am so so sorry. To have hurt him then, to have hurt him after that, to place my mistakes on him, to point fingers, to make his mistakes bigger, to put so much pressure on him that the only thing to do was fail. I am sorry for not being there. For not being a sister. For not giving advice and holding him when he was hurting, but for causing most of that hurt. I am so sorry. And I don't know to make him understand how much I feel this emotion of remorse. I don't know how to tell him that he is not a failure, that I have been wrong for so long. And I am scared that it may be too late to fix what I have spent years breaking. And I am writing this because I need to know what I am feeling. I am writing to heal. To heal my brother, to ease his hurt. Because I am sorry.