Technically, I have a half brother from my dad’s previous marriage. But we’re more than a decade apart, and I’ve never even met him in person. Growing up, I barely even heard about him from my dad. He lived a couple states over, and maybe once a year on some holiday, he would call my dad to say hi, and happy birthday or merry Christmas or whatever. My dad would encourage me to talk to him, and I’d say hi and he’d say hi back and neither of us would have anything to say to each other because we just didn’t know anything about the other.

We were strangers by every measure except blood. And the longer I went without ever meeting him, the less I cared about him. So whenever someone would ask, I’d just tell them that I only had two sisters.

And then I met you. We worked together for a couple years, and became really good friends. We would hang out a lot outside of work, you introduced me to more of your friends, I introduced you to more of my friends, and we made new friends together. I remember going to your house a lot, spending the night, talking about crushes, etc.

At some point, we decided we were basically siblings. I watched over your sister’s cat for a couple months when she was going through hard times. I helped you pick out your own cat and took care of him occasionally. I helped pay for a ferret that you gifted to another friend because you couldn’t afford it at the time. You were there for me when I was figuring out who I was, and you were maybe the third person I ever told when I started coming out as trans.

You always made me feel safe and loved, because you had already gone through this process in the other direction, and you could help me in my own journey. We were there for each other when a guy came into our work and stuck a gun in our faces, wanting to rob us. Yet not even an hour later, the two of us were cracking jokes about getting a “bad review” from the robber for “poor customer service” because that’s just who we were. We knew how to cheer each other up.

So when our friend group started getting messy and split up, we stayed friends. Not quite as close as before, especially when we both moved on to different jobs, but I still thought of us as siblings. And then Covid hit. Then the depression hit as well. Both of us. We didn’t talk as much anymore, but we still kept in touch. I started dating seriously, and I talked about her so much to you. When you and I went on a road trip to visit another friend, we talked even more. Yoy told me how much you wanted to meet her, because you had so many interests in common. Favorite shows, favorite characters, the same senses of humor. You even recommended a show to me that you thought my girlfriend and I would love. I promised I’d watch it later.

I was so happy to have you in my life the same time as my girlfriend, because you were two of the most important people to me and I would’ve loved for you two to have met.

And then we got busy again. Work, school, life, mental health. Months would go by without us talking to each other, but I still thought of you often. I’d reach out and try to plan to hang out together, and you’d try your best to make it work. You’d cancel a lot, or rain check, promising that you’re just overwhelmed with so much right now but you’re trying to make time.

Then I invited you to a big event, months in advance because I knew how busy you were and how forgetful you could be. I wasn’t angry or upset, I just wanted to see my best friend again after months and months of nothing. This time for sure, you promised we’d hang out. A week before the event, I reminded you again and you told me you hadn’t forgotten. That you had it saved in your calendar. The night before, you were asking about parking and when to show up. Finally, the morning of, I waited for you to show up. And I waited. And waited.

I texted you a few times, I called, I checked Life360 because we even shared locations with each other. But you hadn’t even left your house, even though you were supposed to be here over an hour ago. The day passed, the event finished, I went home and cried to my girlfriend. She sent you a very angry text saying how sad I was that you hadn’t even bothered to text me an excuse, let alone show up.

You didn’t respond to her either, but I know you saw her message. So at least you weren’t dead. Days went by, and still no response to myself or my girlfriend. Then weeks. I talked about it to my therapist, and she helped me cope with it as best as she could. Weeks turned into months, and I heard from a mutual friend that you were doing ok, relatively speaking. She told me how you felt bad for missing my event, and explained how you haven’t reached out because you haven’t found the right words, and you’re afraid I’ll be mad at you, so it’s easier to just say nothing at all.

I eventually proposed to my girlfriend, and I thought about telling you beforehand. Though I haven’t texted you since the event you missed, so it was just easier to say nothing at all. I thought about inviting you to the wedding, having you be my best man, and knew how much it would hurt if you never showed up to my wedding of all things.

So I got married. Our mutual friend gave me her gift, and then gave me a card from you as well. I almost threw it away out of spite, since it was the first I had heard from you in over a year.

I finally got around to watching that show you recommended, and you’re right about my wife and I loving it. I wish I could talk to you about it, discuss theories, favorite characters, etc. I already know who your favorite character would be though. Of course I do, because I know you. Or knew you, I guess.

It’s been almost a year and a half now, and I don’t think we’ll ever be friends again. I doubt I’ll ever talk to you again, I don’t think you’ll ever reach out, and I keep trying to convince myself that I’m ok with that fact, that I’ve accepted it and have moved on. But I can’t, because I’ll never forget about you. My best friend, my brother, my friend, and now someone I used to know.