Last post for today...I promise!

In all the hubbub, I neglected to mention that we were going away for the weekend. My brother Skip is celebrating his birthday. This is the brother whom I was raised with. My big bro. He's always called me his baby sister. To this very day, he still calls me "Baby."

Skip's been pretty supportive in my efforts to find my birth family. At first, I didn't tell him because I didn't want to hurt him, or make him think that he didn't matter to me. When I told him I was going to search, he said..."Just be careful Baby, I don't want what happened to me, to happen to you." You see, Skip also tried to find his father. When he finally found him 20 years ago, somewhere in Virginia, the man slammed the door in his face and told him he didn't want to have anything to do with him. Heartbreaking. He's always been very protective of me. I'm 43, and he's still trying to keep me from getting hurt.

When I called to tell him that my search had ended happily, he said, "I'm really happy for you Pua. Just remember who your big brother is. And I don't care who you found, you're always going to be MY baby sister." Yesterday was his birthday. He turned 54. We're going to pile into the van and drive to Vallejo, some 450 miles north, and spend the weekend with him. We may not share the same bloodline, but that never made a bit of difference. It still doesn't. I want him to know that he matters. He will always matter. He will always be my big bro. No matter what.

Happy Birthday Skip. I love you.

See you Monday everyone. Love one another.