Last year I was reminded once again of the importance of being known in this world. My brother died. Upon his death, I became the last one standing of my biological family. My brother was the last person who had known me my entire life. We had a common origin. We shared a common history. We knew each other from the inside out. Today, I miss “remembering when” with my brother! I long for him to fill in the blanks when I fail to remember a name or an event in our family. More than anything, I long to be known—a predominant desire for human beings that is seemingly magnified as we age.
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