There is a special bond between siblings. We spend the first years of our lives living with brothers or sisters who probably know us as well as anyone ever will. I was the eldest child in my family and the only girl. While I often wished for a sister, that was not to be. Instead I had two brothers who became two of the most important people that I will ever know. I vividly remember the birth of each of them even though it seems almost impossible with regard to the first one who came along since I was only three years old. Somehow I nonetheless recall seeing him in his bassinet and later in a wicker basket that my mother sometimes used to carry him into the yard for sunning. 

Jack Michael was born on January 6, Three Kings Day, while we were living on Kingsbury Street in Southeast Houston. He was a dark haired dark eyed little boy who slept most of the time and was often quite sick. I suppose I recall his early years mostly because my mother would often be fretting over him as he developed fevers that raised his body temperature to disturbing levels. He had asthma and many allergies that prompted our family physician, Dr. J. Forrest Jorns to make house calls to our home. I watched my mother place Michael, as we came to call him, on the kitchen table while the good doctor listened to my brother’s breathing. He usually ended the visit by providing Mama with medication for m baby brother and giving directions for what to do if Michael’s condition worsened. 

Michael was a curious soul who always seemed to be exploring the world around him as he began to toddle around the house. One time he got into an ant bed and was soon covered with painful whelps. Another time I witnessed him putting a screw into his nose. That incident prompted a visit to the hospital where his tonsils and adenoids were removed. By then I had learned that sometimes he had to go inside the bathroom where our mother ran hot water to make steam to help with his breathing. I often worried about him as much as my mother did. 

When Michael was three and I was five our brother William Patrick was born. In keeping with an unexplained tradition he became known by his middle name just as Michael was. I always wondered how I had kept my own first name instead of being called Dianne. Anyway I was annoyed when I learned that instead of a sister my mother was brining home another boy. At first I petulantly refused to even go see him as he lay in the same bassinet where Michael had been. Curiosity got the best of me so I snuck into the room where he was sleeping and instantly fell in love with him because he was the most beautiful infant that I had ever seen. 

Patrick was like me. He hardly ever got sick but he tended to be so energetic that he had a number of accidents. I always thought of myself as being his second mom and I felt guilty whenever he was hurt. Somehow I thought that I was responsible for the cuts and bruises that often appeared on his knees from his adventurous play. 

I was only eight when our father died and my brothers were five and two respectively. I took it on myself to constantly watch over them from that day forward. I tried to tell them what our father had been like. I thought it was important for them to know how wonderful our Daddy had been. Michael had a few rather vivid memories that complimented mine, but Patrick had no real recollection of the man that he would always so closely resemble. 

Our mother was determined to allow each of us to develop our own unique personalities and talents. We ended up all being good people but incredibly unalike. Michael was the mathematician that he said he would be who awed us with his intellect. Patrick was a charismatic soul who charmed people wherever he went and would end up being a leader in the community. I became a teacher and a dreamer who still imagines that one day my writing will become known across the world. 

The three of us were as devoted to each other as any brothers and a sister might be. We stayed close to each other over the years and eventually joined forces in caring for our beloved mother who had sacrificed so much for us. Michael worked at Boeing designing the navigational system for the International Space Station. Patrick became a Houston firefighter eventually rising to Head of the Fire Training Academy and then a Regional Fire Chief. I taught mathematics and became the Dean of Faculty in a local high school. Our mother continued to dote on each of us until her death and she remains the heart of our family to this day. 

At this time of year nothing pleases me more than being with my brothers. Now our gatherings include our children, their spouses and our grandchildren. It is always a happy time with love oozing out of the room. I now have sisters, Becky and Allison, who married my brothers. They are exactly what I had hoped to find in a little sister growing up. I can’t imagine my life without my siblings and I hope they can’t imagine one without me. We are best friends and my love for them is immeasurable. The sibling relationship is one of the most special in life and I am so glad that my parents gave me the gift of two wonderful brothers.