Talking to my brother gives me such comfort

I spent more than two hours talking on the phone Sunday night with my brother Waymond. Initially, I called him to check on our mother, who is in a nursing home. But that conversation kind of morphed into one about the family, politics, Iraq, my son and so much more.
I love talking to my brothers, especially that one.
I have 10 brothers and sisters. But for me, some of them feel like family members in name only.
Most of my brothers and sisters, including Waymond, were married and out of the house and living 600 miles away in Illinois by the time I was 8 years old.
Most of my growing up years were spent with my youngest brother, Randy, who is a little more than seven years older than me.
Randy, or as most of us in the family calls him, Renda, was the one I fought with, the one who looked after me when mama and daddy went to town, the one who made that Green Bean casserole every Christmas whether we wanted it or not, and the one with whom I trekked through the woods in search of that perfect Christmas tree.
But Waymond and I have always kind of had a special bond. I don't have many memories of him being at home with me. I remember my mom giving me a spanking at his high school graduation for running outside and playing in the grass in my new, white dress. I remember he drove a school bus. I remember being a flower girl in his wedding.
I was 5 years old when he left home. I was 6 when he returned and got married.
Though over the years, I was just a sister in name only to him, in my adulthood, we have bonded.
After our father died, Waymond was the one who went to my other brothers and sisters and collected money to buy me a car for college.
He was the only one of my brothers who drove from Illinois to attend my college graduation Mississippi. My sister Luella and my nephew O'Neal came down too. Of course my mom was there.
When I got ready to buy my first new car after college, I called Waymond for advice.
Waymond detests telling someone what to do, so his advice at that time was not much help, but he was willing to listen.
He still hates telling people what to do because he doesn't want folks upset with him.
I've told him time after time that sometimes you have to upset the applecart to get things done.
He doesn't like doing it and he doesn't like being a leader, though he is.
It's amazing how our relationship has gone through all of these levels-- not only are we brother and sister, but we are friends.
I like talking to him and I think he likes talking to me.
I like that he is a thinker. I love that he loves his wife and he lets her know that he loves her. I like that he loves our mom and he lets her know that he loves her.
I love that he loves my son and me and he lets us know that.
I get such a comforting feeling talking to my brother and thinking about him.
Waymond and Lillian are one of my son's godparents. My sister, Luella, is his other godparent.
I hope to live to my soon-to-be, 2 year-old son become a college graduate, a traveler, a husband and then a parent.
But if I were to die before Dion reached adulthood, I feel good knowing that he would be raised by my brother and his wife or my sister.
No one will do as good a job raising my son as I will.... Period.
No one.
But it gives me so much comfort to know that my brother or my sister would do their best.
My son loves them. He's only 1, so he can't say, Uncle Waymond or Aunt Lillian yet, but when he says, "A Way" and "Un Lill" I know who he is talking about.