greg, my brother

I remember as a little girl, going with my dad and a few of my brothers, to the baseball field to watch Greg play little league.
He was good.
Talented.
Was an avid player.
Playing ball meant he was having fun. Simple fun.

I remember when my first child was born, I received a congratulations! card from Greg. Mailed from somewhere.

I remember when I was given an unexpected gift. From Greg.
A gift card.
Which I used to buy a quilt. That I still, to this day, years and years later, cover my sheets with. A quilt covered with birdhouses. Large, colorful birdhouses.
The gift card was a symbol of love. For me.

I remember seeing Greg, once, at a family wedding. He was wearing glasses. Smiling. Looking happy. Happily enjoying the company of his siblings.

I remember the times that Greg would stop by to visit our mom.
Bring her flowers.
Fruit.
And pay for a tree removal.
Not because he had to.
But because he wanted to.
How happy it made my mom feel.

Those loving gestures told me he cared.
Loves his mom. Always has. No matter what.

I remember Greg's birthday.
Today.
And hope he knows I think about him.
Often.