Thoughts swarmed my head like bees as I waved goodbye while he headed off to start a new chapter in his life in late May 2017.

Those thoughts consisted of worries and concerns along with sparks of mischievousness and happiness as I said goodbye for the last time in what I thought was three months until I could see him again. My emotions were bittersweet; I had no idea what a big impact he had on my life until he left to begin a new chapter of his.

Little did they know three months would turn into six months, which later would turn into 10 months.

Joe, my high-energy brother, left Wyoming for basic training in Fort Benning, GA. They thought he’d be back after his basic training graduation; that turned into seeing him at Christmas, which turned into being in time to head down to watch Powell compete at boys state swimming in Laramie. They then figured out it was going to be longer.

In three months, it will mark a year since I’ve seen him in person. A year can change a lot for a person; so many things can happen.  Food in the pantry and fridge. New experiences. Future plans. Missing out on memories.

After graduating basic training, Joe, along with many others, boarded a bus to Fort Hood, Texas, where he stayed for a couple months until they deployed him to South Korea and has been there since the beginning of December.

This has been rough on my mother, having him leave home and me leaving with two years until I’m off starting a new chapter in my life.

I admit, it was nice at first, having food in my house without having to go to the grocery store to get more food a couple days later; it began to feel like a part of me and my heart was missing.

I didn’t have my brother to nag, didn’t blast music in the truck, and many other memories that I can’t name because I’d probably be grounded (sorry, Mom). There aren’t empty boxes on the counter or in the pantry to throw away or anyone to be my chauffeur. And this emptiness I felt was something food in the pantry or refrigerator can’t fill.

Everyone thinks of the whole cliché about missing a sibling or a typical lovey dovey type of relationship. My brother and I don’t have one of those.

Growing up in a military family wasn’t easy. For the first five years of my life, I have lived in 12 different countries and was born on a military base in a foreign country.

I would see my dad for a couple weeks in a year when we finally moved to the United States and there was a year when I didn’t see him at all up until 2010 when he decided to resign after eleven years of being overseas.

For the first eight years of my life, I was never close to him; I never experienced many birthdays with him to see them or have a part in those memories. I remember wishing every year for him to be there on my birthday and finally come home for good. There was never a day that went by that I didn’t miss him. Some days were harder than others.

My mother somehow took care of us both as the two of us bickered, drove us everywhere, handling us playing sports, and on top of that, not being able to see her husband at the end of the day. And now that my father is home, and my brother going into the Army, the nostalgia rushed back and it was difficult; knowing that Joe’s around 6,000 miles away is a bit scary.

Although it may be hard at times, it’s always been nice to experience things on my own and branch out. The food at my house is there when I get home and is still there in the morning. Although some days are hard with the silence that envelops my house, others are okay. I can be independent and know that I never have to throw away empty boxes of cereal or have to hide food to avoid my brother getting ahold of them.