Once a Brother

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself wandering cobblestone streets in Spain and Portugal—walking 12 to 15 miles a day, soaking up sun, and rediscovering something I didn’t even know I was missing: my brother.

Randolph and I hadn’t spoken much—well, at all—in nearly 15 years. Life, as it does, got messy. Somewhere along the line, our connection frayed, and we drifted into silence. But then, two years ago, when my life took a sharp and painful turn, Randolph showed up.

No fanfare. No big explanation. Just presence. He was there for court hearings. On the phone with me almost every day. Listening, supporting, helping me piece things back together. Encouraging me to keep going when I didn’t know if I could.

That kind of steady presence doesn’t just heal—it rebuilds. And that’s what we’ve been doing these past couple years: rebuilding. Slowly. Honestly. And maybe most beautifully—naturally.

So when Randolph and his wife Mellissa suggested I join them on a holiday, I didn’t hesitate. Planes, trains, automobiles… and feet. We walked nearly everywhere. We laughed. Swapped dad jokes. Egged each other on like kids on a playground. There was something familiar about it all—like muscle memory. The same rhythms, the same joy in the small things. We’d done this before. Forty-five years ago.

What I felt on that trip wasn’t just nostalgia—it was restoration. Wholeness. The kind of grounded joy that comes when you reconnect with someone who knew you before. Before life hardened the edges. Before the stories got complicated.

Randolph and I didn’t just reminisce—we laughed. Big, real, belly laughs. We talked about our parents. About dreams we once had. About forgiveness, and how time can bend but not always break a bond. He was my first best friend. He still is.

It struck me on that trip: we are made up of the stories we’ve lived and the people who lived them with us. Randolph was there for all of it. So in some fundamental way, no one knows me better.

And now, something that once felt lost is back. And it’s beautiful.

There’s a quote that’s always stuck with me: “Once a brother, always a brother—no matter the distance, no matter the difference, and no matter the issue.” —Byron Pulsifer.

I’ve got two blood brothers—Randolph and Edward. Edward and I are talking about walking the Camino de Santiago together. Randolph and I want to travel again too. And to all the other brothers out there—Angus, Ed, Rat (Andrew), Dan, Stewart, Kurt—I see you. I feel lucky to call you brothers too.

Here’s to old bonds, new adventures, and the brothers we find along the way.