Deacen, are you ready to be a big brother?.

Eleven years old. Big glasses. Bowl cut hair. Untied shoes. Overly anxious. Though he was a child himself, Deacen can to understand what it meant to be a big brother. He’d seen it on television and heard about it from his friends at school. Being a big brother meant putting someone else’s needs ahead of your own. Being a big brother meant protecting someone you love.

It seemed like any other day. Sitting in the backyard, a ninja action figure in each hand. His imagination wild with crashes and explosions and loud bangs. Those ninjas were taking quiet a beating that day. Covered in mud, his hands just as dirty. Suddenly the backdoor swung open, the screen door screeching loudly (as it always did).

Deacen. Son. It’s time to go.

His father had rehearsed this day with him over and over again. When daddy said it was time, it meant stop what you are doing and come with him. Mommy needs to go to the hospital. And if he was a good boy, they would go for ice cream. It meant that he was no longer and only child. Deacen sprung in to action, tossing his toys aside and following his father inside. The mud beginning to dry on his hands. There was no time for that.

Deacen. Take mommy’s bag and get in the car. And remember, don’t be scared. Mommy will be okay.

The young boy was off. Bag in hand, though it was much heavier than his remember from practice. He’d race to the car, jumping in to the backseat. His seatbelt first, followed by locking the bag in to place with its own seat belt. He couldn’t take any risks. His eyes moved to his mother. Her stomach as big as ever. She was in pain. He’d promised his dad he wouldn’t be scared, but he was. His stomach clenched tight, his eyes closed shut. Be a big boy, be a big boy. Don’t cry. He knew he had to be brave.

Deacen. Grab the bag. It’s time to go.

As he slowly opened his eyes, he noticed they weren’t at home anymore. They were at the hospital. This place was familiar. The little boy had been here before. Three years ago. He broke his arm playing football. At the sound of the door slamming shut, he was back in the moment. Quickly he grabbed the bag and followed his parents through the doors.

Deacen. Stay close to me, son. It’s going to be okay.

Everything seemed to move so quickly from there. His father sat him in a chair and told him to watch tv. The little boy’s feet hung over the edge of the chair. Left right left right. His feet swung back and forth, one at a time. A chuckled escaped his lips. He loved watching the Simpsons, even though his father didn’t like it very much. Eventually he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Deacen. Son. Come meet your baby sister.

The little boy followed his father. Down the hallway and through the doors. As they moved passed the curtain, a smile came over the boys lips. There she was. His mother. Holding a pink blanket. Within that blanket, a little pink baby. Deacen hesitated, stepping slowly toward them.

It’s okay honey. Come see.

His mother’s voice was soft. Soothing. Loving. Deacen’s hand rested on the side of the bed. On his tippy-toes, his eyes gazing down at the child. She was so small. He didn’t know babies could be so small. Tiny fingers, tiny toes. Eyes closed. The little boy smiled.

Hi little baby. I’m Deacen. I’m your big brother. I’ll always protect you.