It's My Job
“Oh Jordan,” I sighed as I went over to him. I sat down on the cool tile floor and pulled him closer to my body. I pulled a towel off the rack and wiped his mouth off before he buried his face in my shoulder and sobbed. I didn’t need to ask what was wrong; our dad had gotten the news that he had cancer, the same cancer our grandfather passed away from a few years back. But just because our dad got the news didn’t mean they were coming home any sooner. Still holding onto Jordan, I reached behind me to turn the bathtub on so I could dampen the washcloth to put on his neck.
I managed to clean Jordan up a bit and helped him stumble into my room. We got into bed and I held him, stroking his back and running my other hand through his hair until his breathing evened out. Even once he was asleep, I saw a single tear slip down his cheek.
Even though he’s only one year younger than me, he’s still my little brother, who will get scared or sad and just wants someone to hold him and tell him “it’s okay.” That’s my job. Jordan’s my little brother, and no matter what, I’ll always love him.
I managed to clean Jordan up a bit and helped him stumble into my room. We got into bed and I held him, stroking his back and running my other hand through his hair until his breathing evened out. Even once he was asleep, I saw a single tear slip down his cheek.
Even though he’s only one year younger than me, he’s still my little brother, who will get scared or sad and just wants someone to hold him and tell him “it’s okay.” That’s my job. Jordan’s my little brother, and no matter what, I’ll always love him.