I’m supposed to be packing. There are stacks of clothes, piles of shoes and tangles of camera cords everywhere I look. Somehow it will all Mary-Poppins itself into my suitcase, but until then I thought I’d write about my brother. The one who is getting married this Saturday.

He was destined to be special. The youngest of three. The only boy among a throng of sisters and step-sisters. The last of The Sibs, as I call us, to leap into wedding bliss.

My brother and I are a little less than two years apart and as kids growing up I have typical middle child memories of him being much closer to our older sister. Maybe we were too close in age to appreciate the bond that was to come. Maybe a sister five years older had more street cred than one so close in age to your own. (Or maybe I just wasn’t that cool…I can face the music.)

But divorce changes things.

Suddenly that older sister was off to college and he and I were thrown into a whirlwind together: sharing a bedroom for a bit, spending lots of time driving on Highway 169, each seeing if we could appear stronger than the other. Shared battle wounds. We forged a relationship that will forever be unlike any other. One built on love, understanding and support, but also necessity.

I’m not here to dive into something that happened a long time ago, only to point out that my brother holds a precious piece of my heart.

A precious, yet crazy piece.

Sometimes I miss the days when it was just us against the world, but time has marched on and somehow we became adults. Adults with busy lives, significant others and miles between us.

I’m thrilled that he is happy and look forward to celebrating him and his bride-to-be this weekend. And I’ll surely be thinking of all the ways I love him, all the ways I miss him, and how I couldn’t have ever done it without him.