“Make yourself at home” they said,

and I did,

but it wasn’t.

The Airport had been  a shock:

my brother

my only brother,

my oldest living friend,

older, greyer, slower.

We laughed easily as we always had,

shared sometimes surprising memories,

tolerated  differences more readily,

enjoyed comfortable silences.

But the distance between us was

the distance between us.

My  sister-in-law and I

were  in some ways

strangers.

There had always been tensions,

but unspoken we both knew this,

and an early rambling walk

in a spring blossomed park

engendered new life between us.

Their ‘children’ I knew

a little

through rare visits,

irregular festive communication.

They were warm, welcoming,

full of questions about our ‘children’:

But  my brother and I were the link

and I pondered

what would happen

between them

when we were gone.

To their children’s children

I was a curiosity.

Safe, good for a snuggle

and a book at bedtime,

but destined to be a question mark

in the family  album.

“Will Pop’s friend come tomorrow mummy?”

No.

Our farewells were

not awkward

but incomplete

with the ‘when’s’ and ‘what if’s’

silently hovering .

It had been good;

Very good:

But suddenly I am home,

where I want to be.

They are as far away as ever.