“Isabel!” an urgent voice had said, “Your brother just fell in the quad, it looks like he hit his head.” I rushed to find my brother, who was slowly making his way towards the area I was in, he had been cradling his hand towards his chest, I moved closer to see his pinky turned in an unnatural way, looking so grotesque and had started turning an angry purple before he had thrown up and passed out.
I had seen my little brother lying there. On a hospital bed, his skin had been so pale and his eyes dark from the lack of sleep.
“Hey Brandon”, I said, and received a glance in return. Sighing while reaching for his plate, where the food had only been half eaten, “Do you want to try walking today?” I asked. I got a soft nod in return, surprised, I set down everything and slowly helped him up, making sure that we were moving at a pace he was comfortable with. I had felt tears well up in my eyes as he had taken his first steps in what seemed like an eternity. He was moving slowly, but he was walking, he was walking. I had tried so hard to keep from crying, but the tears had escaped the holds which confined them and rolled down my cheeks, dropping to the floor.
“Don’t cry Isabel, please?” my brother wheezed.
“Sorry” I replied, I had tried my best not to let out a full on sob.
Everyday my other siblings and I would alternate in helping him dress, helping him eat and drink.
Months later, I watched as he walked without any hinderance for the first time in a year, ran with little trouble and laughed without a care in the world. I watched over him, feeling like a mother who would snatch up their young and protect them from any danger at a moment’s notice. During the time in which my brother was ill I felt as if I had been taking those steps with him, slowly one by one.
