Gemotions

It was my brother, Mark, who brought the bombshell. He was leaving the church of our upbringing for a more progressive congregation. I felt a surge of tenderness toward him, the familiar ache of protectiveness.

My mother, a pillar of tradition, was visibly shaken. I reached out, taking her hand, my fingers intertwining with hers. We sat in silence for a moment, then I gave her a small nod, communicating support, empathy, and understanding.

Later, I offered to drive Mark to his new church. The drive itself was quiet, filled with the comfortable silence that only siblings can share. The sun was setting, painting the sky with vibrant colors. “I’m here for you,” I said, my voice barely audible. He gave me a grateful look, and I knew I had said all the right things.