The story I was told was that Gabriel had been dropped on his head as an infant. He came to live with us when I was eighteen-months old and he was three. It’s possible a brain injury made it difficult for him to remember things. My earliest memories are of Gabriel and they’re loving and tender and comforting. I felt safe with Gabriel, and as we grew closer as sister and brother, I didn’t understand we weren’t biological siblings.

One afternoon when my daughter was eleven, we were running errands and talking. She mentioned a recent fight she’d had with a family member, and I shared a story of a time I’d reconnected with someone after a conflict. Then I said something that—until it came out of my mouth—I didn’t know I thought: “That’s what it means to trust someone: you know conflict won’t destroy the relationship.”

A conversation with my friend Leena me sparked new insight related to my feelings toward cockroaches. One night, Leena witnessed me have an outsized reaction to a waterbug on my porch. Once the crisis had been handled, she asked “What do cockroaches symbolize for you?” I’d never thought about that before. Leena’s insightful question prompted me to think back to the first time I remember feeling that way, and a memory surfaced—two actually.