This incident happened a few weeks ago but, the more I think about it, the more precious the memory becomes and I feel the need to chronicle it. Allow me to lay down a little background...
One way Brogan expresses affection for something or someone is to add "my" before its/their name. For instance, he refers to his lovey, Gerry the Giraffe, as "My Gerry." Like when he can't find Gerry among his blankets at night. Even in a sleepy stupor, he'll ask, "Where's My Gerry?" Or if he hears a key in the front door in the afternoon (or any noise downstairs, for that matter), he'll perk up and ask expectantly, "That's My Daddy?" We've come to know "my" as a term of endearment for him. It's a simple, sweet way to express his feeling.
Well, one day in May I was picking up Brogan from his Mother's Day Out program. My parents were in town so they kept Brynna at the house with them (which was soooo nice for a change -- thanks again, guys!). I went to Brogan's class room, collected his things, and signed him out as usual. We were only halfway down the hall when he stopped in his tracks, snapped his head up, looked at me and said, "Where's My Brynna?" with just a hint of panic in his voice. I assured him that she was safe and sound with Nana and Papa back at the house and that we'd see her when we got home. It took me by surprise, though, that he was aware enough to think about his sister even though I hadn't made a single mention of her. I knew then that Brogan loved his little sister. And I know he always will.
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