Open letter to little nut brown hare(s).

My mother used to hold her hand up and say: like all my fingers are different, all my children are different. But I love you all the same.
Like time lapse photography, accelerate forward at warp speed... I don't love my two the same. Because they are not the same.
I love them each with a deep and vast love, sometimes quiet, sometimes screamingly loud. I feel myself to be profoundly connected to each, but differently. I realize this is a landmine I'm traversing, but I trust in my history with each of them. I've been there from the beginning; First to hold them, kiss them, love them blind. Each is becoming such a very interesting adult person. There is much in each that reflects both mother and father, though not in equal measure. Of course, the best is that which is entirely their very own.
At this point, I have ceased to referee, interject, defend or accuse. My goal is to one day stop sitting in judgement, or at least to pass judgement in a gentler, subtler way.
I have often said to have a sibling is to have the greatest gift parents can provide. It is the closest you will get to that blind love, beyond me. It will outlive me (I pray), and survive their whole lives. It will be theirs alone, always. It will be in a different pocket,apart from spouses, or whatever else life can bring, joy or grief, like a twenty dollar bill you forgot you always keep for emergencies.

So its not about questioning my love or devotion or loyalty to one or the other. That's as certain as breathing for me. They have that, and each other, too.