Born into Battle

I wasn’t born alone. I had a twin brother, Jermaine. I was always told that I was a surprise because my mother only thought she was having a boy. However, 15 minutes later, I entered the world. I had always heard that I was a miracle. From what I gather, my brother hid me throughout the entire pregnancy. He harbored me; kept me covered. It’s no wonder that even though he was smaller than me in height, he would always feel like he had to protect me. We were born in to a battle; one that no one could ever prepare for, even if they trained their entire life for it. The battle was that of my mother’s. We just got caught in the crossfire.

My mother was HIV+. She passed the disease on to my brother while in the womb. The miracle was that I never contracted the disease. I’ve never understood that. I could never be happy that it was a blessing for me, while ultimately, it was the demise for my brother. Can you imagine what life was like for a child under these circumstances? Where was the blessing in this? Well, let me tell you about Jermaine. He was unafraid, courageous, brave, strong, daring and the greatest war hero I know! He took on this fight that he inherited and gave it all he had. He was always smaller than me, but he had a larger than life personality and tremendous heart. He was my hero!

Jermaine learned how to ride his bike in one day at 6 years old (it took me a week or 2). He jumped ramps with the neighborhood boys; he would always try to prove that he was just as good, if not better, than the bigger boys. He was always telling me what to do and would check me real quick if I didn’t do things his way. We were inseparable. I hated that he was always trying to prove himself. I just wanted people to accept him for who he was. Although he always felt like he had to protect me, I was doing the best I could to protect him.

As Jermaine became increasingly sick, the nurses and doctors that surrounded us would ask me if I knew or understood what was happening. I began to understand the terms they were sharing with me about Jermaine’s condition. I knew what was happening, but I didn’t want to accept it. I would pretend to be oblivious, but I was trying to block it all out. I felt like we were being punished for a crime we didn’t commit. He was suffering from this illness, and I was forced to watch all of this unfold. I was losing my best friend, my play mate, my other half. I was angry, sad, hurt, resentful, and just downright mad! I wished it was all in my imagination, but it was reality. Our reality.

I had mixed emotions about my mother. I longed for a relationship with her. I loved her more than she ever knew. I wanted her to want us; to love us; to see that we were worth it. I also began to despise her. As I felt the pain of my brother’s impending death to my core, I couldn’t help but be angered by the very thought of her. I blamed her for this: I also felt so guilty as a child that I was healthy while my brother never had a chance. We were born into my mother’s battle. We didn’t ask for this. But, suddenly, as we came in to the world, we were immediately enlisted to fight in a battle that we knew nothing about. We became casualties of war.

I don’t imagine that my mother wanted to live her life the way she did. I also don’t believe that she wanted her children to suffer as a consequence to mistakes that she made. However, it happened. I had the traumatic experience of bearing witness to my brother fighting a battle that he was never going to win. As I am writing this, tears are flowing, because this is where I began to feel inadequate. I could not help him. I could not protect him. I couldn’t rescue him. I was helpless.

Most would say, “This was not your fault. What could you have done?” I know now that it wasn’t my fault. However, as a child, it was hard to grasp that it wasn’t. This was my twin brother! He was sick and I wasn’t. We had other siblings, but, we were born together. I was always right there for him. I helped him up when he fell. I fought for him when others would make fun of him. Our hearts were intertwined. But, I couldn’t do a thing to help him as AIDS developed and began to take over his little body. This was killing me inside. I had begun to carry a heavy burden of guilt that followed me throughout most of my life. So, while we inherited my mother’s battle, there was a new war brewing in me; a war of my own.

2 Chronicles 20:15

... “Do not be afraid nor dismayed because of this great multitude, for the battle is not yours, but God’s.”

-NKJV