“Where’s that picture of Jeremy and I in the chair at the Soldotna house?”

No one could find it. I needed that photo.

My brother and I were six years apart. We weren’t close enough in age to be everyday playmates. But we had something no one else had. We bookended the family. The oldest and the youngest of four kids.

My 7-year-old son and I sat on a couch on the back porch at his grandparents' home in Florida. A breeze ruffled the palm trees and stingrays floated down the canal.

He looked over at me and said, “I hate being the smallest one in the family."