We are going to share with you incredibly beautiful and at the same time very sad and touching story of one guy who reunited with his brother after decades of their parting.

This photo doesn't belong to our main characters of the story
This photo doesn’t belong to our main characters of the story –

These two brothers forced apart by hatred of their homophobic parents who kept them apart for all these long years.

Take some tissues, because it is going to be a very emotional reunion of a real family coming together at the end.

The brother who was looking for his missed sibling wrote his story-confession in three parts and posted it on Reddit, willing to remain anonymous.

This story tells you about his gay brother who had to run away from home being a teenager just because their parents did not support him and did not approve of his homosexuality. So after decades our anonymous hero got to know that his missing brother was alive and now they are going to reunite.

So, here is the original story in three parts taken from Reddit.

Part 1:

I’m trying to write this in a way so that no one will be able to research and find out who I am (or my brother is). But it’s the Internet and everyone’s a super sleuth.

My brother went missing years ago. And when I say “missing,” I mean that his case was declared one of those “creepy unsolved mysteries.” It was on the news. I distinctly remember my parents interviewing for the news in our living room.

I think I know what happened to him.

I was very young when he went missing. I barely remember him, but I do remember that I loved him a lot. He would pull me around our block in a wagon. Most kids his age didn’t do that.

The days before he disappeared, I remember him staying home and babysitting me. I stayed in my room and played Nintendo 64. Throughout the day, a guy came over. I remember him. He was older, almost our dad’s age. My brother made me go into my room whenever I heard the doorbell.

Later, after the guy left, my brother would ask me not to say anything about the guy. With my brain only being focused on video games and extra dessert at that age, I agreed. I didn’t care, nor did I comprehend the gravity of the situation.

The day before he disappeared, I remember the older guy coming over. I was in the kitchen and remember looking up and seeing him kiss my brother. They hugged. They didn’t care that I saw them. The older guy waved at me and I waved back, then I kept watching cartoons.

I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to my brother whispering outside our front door. “Don’t worry, he’s asleep,” he said.

The older guy said something I couldn’t hear. Then my brother said something I couldn’t make out, but I made out the words “visit them” or maybe he said “visit him”? Either way, I know the word ‘visit’ was in his sentence. The man raised his voice and said no. Then I heard “plan” and “city.” Then I fell asleep again.

The next morning–the day he disappeared–my parents were at work. My brother was acting very strange. I remember he kept checking the clock. In the afternoon, I remember him picking me up and asking me if I wanted to go in the wagon. I was too hooked on Nintendo 64 and said no. He almost begged me and I said no again. Then he told me he had to run to our neighbor’s house for something, I don’t even remember what he said. I said okay. He reminded me to not open the door for anyone, only mom and dad. I shouted at him “OKAY!” because Super Mario was getting on my fucking nerves and he wasn’t helping.

He gave me a hug and told me he loved me and left. He never came back.

All these years–decades–later and I think he was in love with that man. I know he was. The memories randomly came flooding back to me earlier, I’m not quite sure why. But it has been taking over my thoughts lately. I can’t sleep because I keep thinking about it.

I think my brother left with that man and they ran away together. Or maybe something worse happened. But I don’t think that’s the case.

My freshman year of college, I was part of a sports team that got national recognition. I remember my team’s picture was on ESPN and with our university’s name. A few days later, I got mail at my dorm. It was a gift basket. I thought it was from my parents, so I didn’t read the card. I threw it away immediately and ate what was in it, but it was nothing but candy. Nerds, jolly ranchers, Tootsie Rolls and Hershey’s Kisses. I called my dad and thanked him for the gift basket and he said he didn’t send one, neither did mom.

Then I got to thinking: all of those candies were what I used to eat as a kid. Literally all I ate for the earliest years of my life were those candies. I tried to find the card, but I couldn’t. Then I began to think about how my brother would wheel me in the wagon to the gas station close to our house so I could get candy after dinner, even though it was a punishable-by-death “no-no” from mom.

Months later, during Christmas, I got an unmarked Christmas card. The only thing written on it was a :) smiley. Since then, I’ve heard nothing. No one I know sent that card. I have never responded.

I wonder, every day, if he’s out there. I have never told anyone this. When the police asked me what happened that day, I told them that he went to the neighbor’s because that’s all I remembered, honestly.

It destroyed my parents. My mom became addicted to pain killers and my dad has had three extra-marital affairs (which, I know this tragedy is no way an excuse to cheat, but it sure didn’t help). It has ruined our family, and maybe my brother knows what he did. Maybe he regrets it and knows he can’t come back home.

But if I could see him today, I would just want to tell him that he is always welcome in my home. I love you so much, brother. We have so much catching up to do. Please come home. Please.

Part 2:

It’s 4pm and I’m drunk lol

These past few weeks have been insane. I posted on here before….my brother went missing a long time ago. I thought he ran away from home. Long story short, I got into contact with some detectives that our family has known since my brother went missing. When I started asking questions, they told me that my brother was no longer on any missing persons registry. When I asked what that meant, they told me that he was removed per my parent(s) request.

I asked my parents–my dad, actually. My dad ignored me. My mom told me my brother is alive and okay (“as far as she knows”). They found my brother years ago–a very, very long time ago–and found out he was living with another man. He’s gay, and it disgusted my parents. He tried reaching out to them. They told him they didn’t want anything to do with him and that I didn’t remember him and wouldnt’ want to see him…..

I went ballistic. My parents weren’t fazed by it. They sincerely hate my brother for who he is–for being gay. They kept him a secret from me all my fucking life. My brother missed the birth of his nephew, he missed my wedding, graduations, EVERYTHING. just because of my parents. they lied to me.

I’ve been able to get a phone number and contact information from police officers. my brother left it all open in case anyone from our family wanted to contact him. i still can’t work up the nerve to call him. the address i have for him is across the fucking country. but he’s alive. my brother is alive. i’m drunk as fuck right now because i can’t deal with any of this. i haven’t talked to my parents in weeks and i never plan on speaking to them again. not for what they’ve done to me, or my brother.

this is real and it happened. it happened–it is happening right now. i dont know how to process this at all. my parents let me believe my brother was dead or kidnapped forever, when in reality he just ran away and when he wanted to come back they disowned him

im fucking crying right now. how could you do that? fuck you, God. fuck you christians and jesus. idont even know i’m so fucking–i’m sorry

Part 3:

Here’s an update for you all:
The day after I made my last post, I woke up and called into work. I told my wife (who is essentially my confidant and I tell her everything) the whole story. She wasn’t really surprised; she’s not a fan of my parents much. But like many of you, she told me to call the number I was given for my brother immediately. She insisted on it. She took herself and my son out for a day together so I could be alone to talk with him.

I dialed the number about seven times before I actually pressed the “call” button. It started ringing and I hung up. Then I got frustrated at myself and called the number back. It rang and rang and I got a voicemail, but it was the automated voice, not anyone else’s. I didn’t leave a voicemail. I thought the whole thing was ridiculous. I called my wife and told her to come home and she refused until I had talked to someone on the other end of the phone.

About an hour of pacing and drinking two glasses of scotch at 1 o’clock in the afternoon, I called the number again. It rang three times. I panicked. I hung up. But this time, the number was calling me back. I swear to whatever God(s) above, I thought my heart was going to stop. I almost threw up right there. I answered the call.

The first thing I heard on the other end of the line was a guy laughing in the background. There was wind on the phone. The person on the other end was outside and it was windy. “Who is this?”

It was his voice. I knew that voice. It was my fucking brother. My brother! Who had been gone for my entire life! I covered my mouth with my shaking hands and just sat there. He kept asking me who it was. The guy in the background was trying to talk over him. He hung up on me. I called him back right away. He answered again.

Me being a creepy ass, the first thing I said after decades of not seeing him and thinking he was dead, I blurted: “I got your number.”

He asked me who I was and what I wanted. I said, “It’s me.” There was a really long pause. I thought the call had dropped. Then I heard him tell someone to turn the radio down and roll the window up. The sound of wind stopped… and then he asked me my name. I told him and he said that I was lying. I told him I got his number from the missing children’s network and detectives. I heard him gasp. He asked me what color shoelaces he wore to a picnic when we were kids, and I remember my mom getting mad at his orange laces with blue shoes. It was the last time we were together as a family.

I could tell he was crying. The first thing he asked me was: “Where are you?” and I told him I lived a few hours away from home. Without hesitating, he told me, “I’m coming.”

He went straight to the airport without any luggage, bought a plane ticket, and flew straight to me. We stayed on the phone with each other the whole time. When he was walking through the gate, I knew who he was right away. He is middle-aged; salt and pepper hair, muscular. He looks just like our dad, only better. I know if I told him that, that would make him mad.

I literally pushed an old lady out of the way and I just hugged him. He’s about two inches taller than me. He was able to pick me up. He was crying, I was crying. I was having a breakdown. We went to a bar at the airport. He wouldn’t let me out of his sight. He kept holding onto my arm. He kept telling me how unreal it all was. He apologized to me. He kept crying, telling me he felt horrible. I told him to forget everything and tell me about his life.

He’s married. His husband is a doctor—a pediatric oncologist. They live in the Pacific Northwest. They have two children—girls, 12 and 8. He works as a legal consultant and has his own firm. He has an amazing life. He told me that he thought I hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. We sat at the bar for hours. Literal hours. I think we sat for about six hours before I begged him to come home and meet my wife.

We got home, and my wife was a mess. She hugged him and insisted he stay with us. At this point, his husband was going insane and kept calling him. He had no idea what was going on. He thought he had eloped or something. It was crazy for a couple of days until everything was explained and out in the open.
My son and my brother were like two peas in a pod. Honestly, I never wanted children. My son was an amazing accident, but I’m not good with kids. I’m always afraid I’m going to break them. But my brother is a pro. Kids love him.

He stayed with us for two weeks. And in two weeks, everything about my life changed. His husband and two daughters flew in to stay with us. My brother-in-law and my two nieces. My family. They were my family. They are my family.

My brother wants my wife and I to move to be closer to him. My wife is on board. I work as a professor at a university and have already started to send out feelers to see if there are any open positions, and I’ve found one that is actually tenured and higher pay.

I do not plan on forgiving my parents, but my brother still loves them. He went by their house and knocked on the door. My father shut the door in his face. My mother gave him a hug and told him to take care of himself. Then she shut him out. I can’t forgive them for that. I have no reason to stay close to them. I want to be with my family. I want to make up for all the lost time.

It’s 2am right now and I’m drinking a tall glass of scotch and grading papers. My beautiful, wonderful, smart, amazing wife is asleep on the couch. She likes to watch me grade papers. My son is asleep in his room cuddled up with all the stuffed animals his uncle brought him. And I’m here, so happy, so fulfilled knowing that my family has grown and doubled in size so suddenly. My heart is happy. I am so happy right now, Reddit. I am so happy.

Source: (Part 1), (Part 2), (Part 3).

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