When memories come alive

It's late and I should probably be asleep, but I can't. As of late, I find my mind wondering to various things, however it usually settles on my brothers. I don't talk about them often, however, their death still affects me -- even 20 years later. As a social worker who aspires to practice in the field of mental health, I have glaring reminders that I should probably talk to someone about my thoughts. However, there's a part of me that wants to keep thoughts because that's really all that I have of them.

I find myself wondering what it life would have been like had they not died 8 months apart when I was 7. My thoughts wander to places that allow me to imagine how it would've felt to have had an older brother who wasn't stricken with cerebral palsy. Or even what it would've been like to have had a younger brother who lived much longer than just a day. Would they have protected me? Would they have harrassed me and teased me for being the only girl?? At the same time, I think about how my life would've been had my older brother lived longer than the 17 years he was alotted...I was 7, he was 17...we were 10 years apart...both born on the 31st of our respective birth months. I often think had he lived, I would not have hesistated to have taken care of him when my parents no longer could. But, that's not my reality.

I sometimes think about how my oldest and youngest brother died and left me (the middle one) here -- almost as if I'm the last one standing. I often think about that fact and motivate myself because it's almost as if I've got to accomplish things for myself but also in memory of my brothers. But, honestly, how healthy is that???

I don't know...as with most of my posts, this is another random stream of thought. Either way, for those who may read my blog on occassion, please don't become alarmed. I'm not suicidal (lol), just highly introspective...so please forgive me for hosting my own therapy session via my personal blog :)