My first safe space

And the child who gets to have him everyday

My brother is a father now. And honestly, that child is incredibly lucky.

He’s actually my cousin, but I’ve always called him my brother. He was way older than me, yet somehow he became the person I grew up closest to. In a house where I never really felt that comfort or safety people talk about, he was the only place that felt like love.

Emma was different. He was kind, calm, generous, respectful. He listened to me when no one else cared what a kid thought. He made me feel seen and protected. He embodied love in the simple way he lived, no big speeches, just actions that matched every word.

He was my safe space.

When I drew my cartoons, he hyped and encouraged them like I was a prodigy. He gave me his Nokia to play Prince of Persia, and even when he caught me sneaking it at night, he’d still let me keep it. Looking back, I don’t know how he tolerated me.

I learned a lot just from watching him. Even as a kid, I knew there was something different about him. He was the first person I ever said I wanted to grow up to be. Not Ben 10, not some doctor or politician, just Emma. He was the one I went to with all the awkward questions about girls and sex, and he always answered honestly, without judgment.

I know he’s a big part of why I turned out decent despite everything around me.

After I moved out, he moved to the East. I miss seeing him. We’re both terrible at keeping in touch, but once in a while we talk, and it feels like nothing changed.

He got married last year. I couldn’t make the wedding, but I was really happy for him. And a few days ago, he called to tell me he’d become a father.

What a lucky kid.

I used to wish he was my dad. And honestly, in many ways, he was. Now a child gets to grow up with the same love and honesty that shaped me.

I can’t wait to meet his wife and baby and tell them how much I love their husband and father, and how blessed they are to have him.