I just delivered my brother to the airport. Immediately when he was gone I felt this incredible sense of emptiness. A piece of me was gone. To truly understand how this affects me you'd have to have grown up as me. I used to wipe his butt and give him his bottle. Obviously, he's 29 now and a grown man. Somehow though, we fall back into that relationship where I am the older sister and he's my little brother.

We talked about this phenomenon; almost 20 years we lived apart in separate worlds, separate continents even and yet, as soon as we get together there is a familiarity that cannot be denied. Yes, I still have a tendency to want to mother him but I am working on that. It's tough though. In my memories he was always the cute little boy who just adored me. I suppose in a way he still does. I could feel his ache when he had to pack up his belongings and leave. And our good-bye hug may have been short and sweet but there was something more there.

Since I am so much older than he my life experiences before he was born and after I moved out are completely different. We can reminisce about our childhood only up to the point where I was an adult - that covers about the first five years of his life and then intermittently for another four years when my mother decided to dump him on me. She did that sort of thing on a whim. I digress ...

I've lived half of my adult life in the US. My life in contrast to his and that of my younger sister is a difference of night and day. Sometimes I feel guilty that I got out of that dysfunctional muck we still call "family". Other times, I get rebellious and indignant since I worked damned hard for everything I have and have accomplished. It's a fine line I have to tow when I speak with them sometimes. I certainly don't want to rub it in - but come on, why shouldn't I be a little proud of it?

20 years go by faster than one would think. When I was 18 I used to think about the year 2000 and that I would be 36 then. Well, 36 has come and gone - I am still here. Still remembering things I sometimes wish I could forget and have forgotten things I sometimes wish I could remember. It's funny how when I talk with my siblings they ask me: "Hey, do you remember this and that?" and it's a complete blank to me. And then I will remember events and they have no clue what I am talking about. Strange what's important to us as individuals, isn't it?

So after 20 years I am reconnecting with family. I knew that eventually I would have to face up to the fact that I had an entire life somewhere else before this one. That there were a host of people and players in it that I haven't given any play time in ages; I simply benched them all and went about my business with replacement players.

When my brother came to visit the first time in March, it was a great feeling to see him again. This time, it was all about getting to know each other all over again - only as grown ups. And I miss him even more now.

In six weeks time I will be on a plane to Germany with my son. Visiting my old haunts, playgrounds, schools, places I used to live, places I got in trouble, places I used to cherish. And I can only hope that my son will fall in love with my hometown and understand why I get nostalgic over it at times. And he will for the first time meet his German family. Up until my brother started visiting, my past and my family were fairly abstract to him. Like non-entities; really no concept of the country, the people or his "other" family. Sure, I've told him lots of little anecdotes about my crazy drunk uncles, my cousins, my mother in complete denial of her illness, his ancient great-grandmother (it's unbelievable that she is still around actually) - but, obviously he still has no concept of all this until he actually experiences it for himself.

I've been running from my old life for so long, tried so hard to distance myself from old hurts and grievances. Now that I've jumped into the deep end, it's actually not so bad and I'm treading water quite nicely. So far, so good. I can only hope to get over my anxiety of seeing my mother again. That's a biggy I am still worked up about. One family member at a time I suppose...