Thank God for my brother. Today, after taking care of a very sick 20 month old (with a high fever), I was still able to dial and hear a family member with an British accent. When it is way past the time that I can call my Mum or my sister (I hate that 6 hour difference), I can always call him in Indianapolis. I know it sounds daft, but around 5 or 6pm, I just want to ring someone and talk about my day, their day, world peace, British politics or just about anything under the sun...something my family is really good at doing.
When I first moved here, I had accepted that I would be the only person from my family that lived state-side. I jokingly asked my Mum one day before I flew off over the Atlantic, would she ever move to America? No! I will never leave England, she fiercely told me. I understood. I love England. However, I had lived here for about 7 years when my brother moved to Indy. How fucking happy am I? And consequently, I have that person to unload on (sorry!) at the end of the day. I have the bloke that I can call on St Patrick's Day and we both bitch about the unfairness of it all...(another blog). I can call and ask, will you build us a shed this year? (Did I mention that he is amazing with constructing and building stuff). Oh, and he taught me every sport I ever played....even ones that were totally girly and he had never played. (Field hockey, hurdles, basketball, and then soccer when I played on a co-ed team here a few years ago.)
I have an easier time being honest with him than anyone else ('cept Kyle of course). And when I think how he never had a brother, (he was just sandwiched between two girls) he never complained. he never made me feel like I should have been a boy so that he could, you know, teach me boy stuff. He did that anyway, and he let me be a girl when I needed to. be He still does...he just calls me a goat if I go too far.