Dear Brother

Have you ever had someone in your life who’s always been there—but you rarely told them how much they meant to you? Maybe because you thought there would always be time. Maybe because, deep down, you thought they already knew. This is a letter for the brother I grew up with… the boy who shared my childhood, fought over silly things, laughed at midnight jokes, and silently protected me more times than I can count. If you’ve ever had a brother—by blood or bond—this story might feel like yours too.

Dear Brother,

I don’t know why it’s so hard to say some things out loud. Maybe because we were never the “talk about feelings” type. Maybe because life just kept moving, and I assumed you’d always be around—just like you always have been.

But tonight, something made me pause. A smell, maybe. A song. A random memory. And suddenly, I was eight years old again, chasing you through the backyard, laughing until I couldn’t breathe. You always let me win—well, almost always.

You were my first best friend. My first rival. My first bodyguard. You were the one who taught me how to climb fences, how to cover for each other when we broke something, and how to say “I’m fine” even when we weren’t.

I know we argued. A lot. I borrowed your things without asking. You teased me until I cried. We got each other in trouble more times than we should’ve. But even in those moments, there was this unspoken rule: no matter how mad we were, we always had each other’s back.

I remember the time you stood up for me in school when I was too scared to say anything. You didn’t say much afterward—just nodded like it was nothing. But it was everything to me.

And when I went through those dark phases—when I didn’t feel like myself—you never pried. You just sat there, handed me a snack, played music, or threw a pillow at me until I smiled. You probably didn’t even know it, but those small things saved me more than once.

You were never perfect. None of us are. But you were there.

Even now, as adults, we talk less than we used to. Life gets in the way. Work, relationships, responsibilities. But every time I see your name pop up on my phone—even just a meme or a random “yo”—it brings a strange kind of comfort. Like home.

I wish I had told you sooner:

Thank you for protecting me when no one else did.

Thank you for the jokes that made no sense but made everything better.

Thank you for letting me be annoying sometimes and never making me feel like I wasn’t enough.

Thank you for being a constant, even in silence.

There were times I thought you didn’t care. That you were too distracted, too cool, too distant. But I see now—you were just figuring things out too. You were carrying your own weight, your own worries, and still showing up for me in the ways you could.

If I could go back, I’d sit with you more. I’d ask you how you really felt, not just laugh things off. I’d tell you I admired you—even when I pretended I didn’t. I’d tell you you were the reason I felt safe, even when the world didn’t make sense.

And if I’m being honest, I still don’t say these things enough. I still assume you know. But the truth is, people don’t always know. So I’m saying it now.

You mattered then.

You matter now.

You always will.

No matter where life takes us—how far we go, how different we become—you will always be my brother. Not just by birth, but by bond. The kind that time, distance, or silence can’t break.

So if one day you ever doubt your worth, your impact, or your place in this world, I hope you remember this:

You were someone’s hero, even if you didn’t know it.

And you still are.

Love always,

Your little shadow,

Who grew up following you—and still does, in more ways than you think.

To the Reader:

Maybe your brother is just a phone call away. Or maybe he’s only reachable in memories. Either way, don’t wait. Say the words. Write the message. Share the laugh. Sometimes the most powerful stories are the ones we live—and forget to tell.

Let this be a reminder that it's never too late to say the words you've always meant.