timeless-ness.

Unless you have siblings, you don't understand. Sure, you have close friends that feel like siblings, but unless you truly grew up with them and always had them there, it's not the same. And unless you're the oldest, you can't even begin to understand the way you love your younger siblings. No one understands when you say you feel like you protected them and raised them and stepped in as a mom for them when they needed it. "The Twins" as they became known entered the world two years after me and they were my constant best friends.

I told my brother once that I wished he had never been born. Another time I told him he was making my life hard because he was a loser. I called my sister a slut when she found out she was pregnant at 15. We refused to talk to each other for two years after as a result. (Mind you, I'm not even 20 yet... 2 years feels like an eternity.) These hateful things I've said, these horrible ways I acted, still haunt me and I wish more than anything I could take them all back. I wish I could rewind time and stop myself from saying them and keep protecting my brother and sister. But that's the cruelly beautiful thing about life: time forgets and heals.

When we were all really little, I had a huge queen-sized bed. Every night, Michelle would lay on my left and Tyler on my right and I'd read to them. My dad was usually at work and mom was too frustrated with us by that point to be there, so I stepped in: I would lie with them and read a chapter every night. We'd all goof around and fight, like usual, but it was our time together.

They attended a different middle school, but they still asked me for help with their homework from time to time. The dining room table was always covered in my mom's art supplies, so we'd hunker down upstairs or in the little playroom and work for a bit together. I doubt they even remember these events, but I carry them with me always, as if to remind myself that memories are our way of holding on to the things we can't bring ourselves to let go of.

When my parents divorced, it was like everything came crashing down. My dad moved out and we weren't to see him. My mom was rarely at home, she preferred to go out with friends. We were in high school at this point, and I was working everyday after school. When I got home at 11, Michelle and Tyler would be the only ones there. We'd salvage what little meals we could from the things in the fridge and freezer and we'd eat in front of the TV until Mom came home, angry at us for still being up.

In my darkest hours, they were there. In my phases of teenage cruelty and angst, they stood by. In my few shining moments, they were present and supportive. Through our parent's divorce, Mom's bipolar mood swings and Dad's alcoholism, we had each other. If things got too hard, we just turned to one another and toughed it out. You'd be amazed what kids can handle when they're together.

Tyler and I used to hop in the car and just drive. He'd put in System of a Down or Three Days Grace and we'd roll our windows down and crank the music as loud as possible. The frame of the car would rattle as we tore down the highway, the wind whipping through the car. We didn't ever have to talk, just be there. Just be together and know that, for even the briefest of moments, we were not alone. We didn't have to be anyone special, just ourselves, singing along to the lyrics in the night.

Michelle and Mom fought all the time, and the fights would step to the verge of violence. I'd jump in, knowing full well that I was turning all of Mom's fury on myself. I'd tell Michelle to go to her room and just let the whole thing go. Mom would get so mad at me, but the shift in the fight would be enough to keep her from hurting either of us. She'd yell a bit more and then give up, worn out and wanting us "out of her sight". I'd sit with Michelle afterwards and try to soak up her tears and make her feel better. I know I always came short, but I never stopped trying.

I moved to Corpus Christi to get away from my mom: the teachers I had confided in and the school counselor all warned me that staying near home could be devastating for me and the best choice would be to get as far away as possible for college. So I packed my life and drifted to the coast and got caught up in school. Being away from mom made it easier to live and I finally understood how nice controlling your own life could be. But I couldn't shake the constant guilt: I had gotten out. Our childhood house was a far-cry from a home and everyday things with Mom got more and more out-of-control. Dad offered little solace as he tried to pick his life back up and had limited time for us kids. I had escaped all of this and started over in a new city, with new friends and new chances. I had left my brother and sister, thrown them to the wolves, let them fend for themselves. But going back would mean giving up the happiness I had finally constructed for myself and admitting I was never gonna do anything but clean up after my family.

These days, my dad has the twins. He still drinks too much and they're all mixed up in drugs, but they're making their own happiness. My mom lives alone and she seems to be happy with this as well. I go home about once a month for only a weekend, just to see them. I want more than anything to move back home and be with them... I'd give anything in the world to be close enough to see them regularly and be part of their lives again.

It's easy to forget what's important in life. It's easy to get caught up thinking about money and bills and ourselves. Everyday, I thank my lucky stars that I still have a relationship with them and that I still talk to Dad regularly. Because, first and foremost, the most important thing in life is love. It's getting through all the shitty days, all the people who step on you and put you down. It's having your siblings close, these people who have constantly been there and will never stop loving you. The bonds between siblings are unbelievably strong... their stories are intertwined and run together and tell the same tales. This is the one reason I wake up everyday and force myself through. How can you look at your siblings, who have faced the same demons and come out alive on the other end and tell them "I gave up. Sorry."?

Call your siblings. Pick up the phone and let them hear your voice. Remind them of all the good days you had together. Let them know you're right there, even if you're miles apart, in case they ever need anything. And never let the memories fade... those are what remind you of what's worth the most at the end of the day.