My brother, Mike, the person I can count on to disregard the morning announcements and to provide a ride home after school, will soon leave for college. Come tomorrow, the halls of Naperville North and the rooms of our home will be eerily vacant of his sarcastic wit and goofy personality.

He is one of the 718 students that will graduate mid-May and, in August, will leave behind his  adolescence and dependence. His puppy-like head tilt of confusion and constant video-gaming will be lost to his new home: DePaul University.

These next couple of years will change his life, but their influence on mine has already started — a feeling of loss has begun to slowly flood my emotions and affect my daily life. I have started to morph from the disregarded middle child to the mature oldest kid.

Being the middle child, I will still have my younger sister to talk to, but I will have to take on the jobs that Mike had for years. Throughout my life, he has acted as a test subject, buffer, and guide. Now, those positions will be passed down to me so that I can help my younger sister in her development.  

Being “the oldest” is not an easy task. His whole childhood was parenting class for my mom and dad. He was the first to play soccer, the first to skin his knee, and the first to experience  middle school. He has set the standards within our family for everything from allotted media time to weekly allowance.  

As we’ve grown older, our family of five has grown closer, putting aside the occasional raised voices and slammed doors. Family dinners have been filled with laughter from my sister’s perfect recitation of almost any Just Go With It line, or my brother’s mispronunciation of a big and ridiculous word. Our annual family vacations allowed time for us to bond without the stress of daily life.

With the absence of one of our own, the seating order of the table will be imbalanced and our conversations will be missing a very vocal opinion. A bedroom will be empty and the “kid’s” car will now be my car.

My brother’s departure is not so much a right of passage as a revelation. I have discovered that the things that go unnoticed are maybe the most important. Mike, most of the time, does his part to keep the household running. His daily dog walks and the sacrifice of his late arrival option to drive me to school are vital in our daily lives.

Secondly, change, no matter its degree of sadness, is good. Mike will experience a big mental and social growth spurt from his new experiences. I will take over the part of the oldest sibling. My parents will begin to feel the early stages of empty-nest syndrome. My sister will have to step away from her role as “the baby of the family” to compensate for the roles that my brother will leave open.

Lastly, I realized that despite our “casual” bickering and constant competitiveness, we as a family are inseparable. It might sound cheesy, but I know that if I ever need a break from the snootiness of Naperville, I can hop on a train and see him within the hour. I know that despite his constant teasing of my loud singing and clumsiness, I can always confide in him. And no matter how many times he’ll deny it, family is forever.