Prologue:

The altar was abandoned, except for him. He was oblivious to his surroundings and had not noticed that one by one, others who had knelt there had returned to their pews and eventually left the church, hurrying off to their Sunday meals. His back was toward me, I just kept staring at him. He wore an angora sweater, large stripes of white and pale blue.

Kneeling, his head lowered as if in dee p conversation with God, I wondered what had caused him to linger. Was it a thankful heart? Or a burden too heavy to bear? He was seventeen. I was nine, and I loved him with all my heart.

My brother: a prankster, joker, and a tease. I know because he practiced his antics on me. We didn't have a lot in common in those early years. I was just the little sister who wanted to tag along with my big brother, my mentor, my rock. But despite our age difference and the endless teasing, I knew he loved me.

Years have passed, and the age gap between us seems to have diminished. I don't know exactly when it happened, but somehow, we had traded places. Now I am the one giving emotional suppout. I have become his rock.

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