Looking back, I don’t really understand why I was so jealous of them.  I always found myself thinking “They have so much,” but I didn’t really want any of the things they had.

They had a bigger house, but our house was just the size we needed.  They could afford expensive food at fancy restaurants all the time, but my mom made the best food in the world from store-brand supplies.  They enrolled in classes in any sport they wanted to play, but I never liked sports.  They went to a private school, but I wouldn’t leave my public school, even when I was given the chance.

Still, I was so jealous of them.  I suppose, since I was one year older, everyone assumed I would be just a little bit better at things then them, that I would know just a little more.  But it seemed like they knew more about everything.  What they couldn’t do, they learned how to quickly.  I could never seem to do anything that measured up.

I complained a lot, to any of my friends that would listen.  “They’re so perfect.  They have everything they want.  They can do anything.”  I may have even said, “I hate them.”  I thought this way until late July of 2007, when one of them woke up with a bump on his head.

It turned out to be cancer.  I had felt these terrible feelings toward these two boys, and now one of them could be dying, and the other had to watch helplessly.

I was so jealous of them.  But I never hated them.  The way I cried told me that I loved my cousins, even if it took me far too long to realize it.