“Kareem” means “generous” and “giving”. One of the best gifts I’ve ever received was a simple head nod upward from my brother, Kareem, an acknowledgement that I had been heard.

I told my brother that I loved him as he lay, wide awake and seemingly recovering, in a hospital bed. He was in good spirits. We spoke about the book of jokes and riddles I had chosen for him with permission from Ms Warren at the school library. It was quite a big book, so I would have been surprised if he was half way through (I wish I knew the name of that book). When we spoke, he mentioned that he’d read the whole thing. Twice. Overnight.

It was Wednesday, November 29, 1995 around 7:30am, right before school. The typewritten note that I’d included in the pages of the book celebrated his not having to go to school or do dishes. I waited for our mother and the nurse to walk away so that no one would hear, but him. I came back to his bed after a little deliberation and distance then I said it.

This is something for which I’m most grateful, not knowing (or being able to fathom) that it would be the last time I’d ever see him alive. It was not easy for the newly 17 year old me to express my feelings, but I made myself admit it to Kareem, my first sibling who’d recently turned ten. I thought I’d see him the next day, but I didn’t. I thought I’d see him the day after that, but that was the last day.

I’m really glad that I said it because to this day I still believe that it’s the best decision I’ve ever made in my life. After all these years, just knowing that still makes me cry.