My baby brother was born the day after my 12th birthday.
When I think of him as a child, all I see is big, mischievous blue eyes and deep dimples in round chubby cheeks.
As I moved through difficult teen years, I looked forward to those moments when I showed up at their doorstep and was nearly knocked over by the running force of my little brother's hugs. They were medicinal.
It's not all that remarkable that the hugs of a child could be medicinal. What's remarkable is that tonight, standing in the parking lot of the restaurant where we celebrated his 20th birthday along with my 32nd, I realized that his blue eyes are still mischievous, his dimples still deep, and his hugs are <i>still</i> medicinal.
I know without a doubt that I am so, so lucky.