With Love, Big Brother

Sometimes I think back to my early childhood, and everytime I stretch my memory as far as it will reach, there's always one memory that is the clearest of them all. My first memory isn't of my mother or my father, but rather someone who I feel at times I should have taken more time to really appreciate.
My first memory is of overwhealming joy at the sight of my big brother as he's walking off the plane. Even to this day I can still feel my heart skip faster and remember how my hands used to clutch onto my shirt in childish impatience as I waited for the one person I always felt an unspoken connection to. I can still see the way his body slanted to the left slightly with the weight of a carry-on and how he would flash that grin at us all before we'd rush in to suffocate him with hugs.
Today, we've reestablished our contact with one another, and I couldn't be happier. I finally have what millions of "Adopted" brothers couldn't suffice. A real brother. I have someone once again who I can really remember the tone of his voice and the way he walks and I can honestly say when someone asks "Yeah, that's my brother, and I couldn't be prouder of him."