Did you know that I get caught off guard each time someone asks if I have a brother or not. I don’t really know what to say. Some people know about you, but most don’t.

I wish I could see you. Who do you look like, mom or dad? Are you the perfect middle child, bridging the two extremes between me and monkey? What do you like? What do you see? Where are you? What’s it like to be nameless until 2006, when you would have been 21? You know that I miss you, without having ever seen you, right? You know that I love you too?

I’m sorry that you were just discarded in a biohazard bin. I gave you a name in 2006, Joseph. Maybe that can begin to make amends. It was Jennifer’s idea, and it was good, but brought the pain to a new high. It made it real, that you were no longer a mere abstract, but my brother. My little baby brother … dude, I don’t even know what that means; what it feels like or anything else at all.

Remember last year when I hit a point during Lent? I know in my head that its not my fault, that somehow my costing mom and dad over $100,000 in neonatal and preemie care, is not reason alone for you not living. I can’t be used as the excuse, nor can your disorder. You’ve probably seen how that that ‘perfect child’ ideal has backfired.

There’s many reasons why I’m not happy with my mom, but you know that you’re among the top. You are probably also aware that each 40 Days campaign I do is somehow for you; mom’s never really shown remorse.

Oh, say Hi to Jesus for me, would you? Tell Him I’m doing okay here, but He’s got to start coming through for me in some huge ways. He knows what I mean.

See you,

Your sister, Megan

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