My big brother Peter was almost 10 when I was born, in 1949. He was always an enigma, and remains one to this day, to our children who were fascinated by him and never met him.
He developed polio when he was 14. I still remember him being taken out to an ambulance to go to Melbourne's only infectious diseases hospital, and he seemed to be there forever, although it was probably about 6 months.
He always studied hard, and gained his Diploma in Mechanical Engineering when I was half-way through high school. Then, when I was maybe 14 (in 1965, I think), he sailed for London, and only ever returned to Australia 4 times in the following decades, for funerals. When he died, we had not seen him for 42 years, since Dad's funeral in 1978. I wrote to him on birthdays and at Christmas, and only sometimes received a reply, although he was glad to receive news. I think he contacted my other brother and my elder sister more than he did me. After 9/11, we couldn't get in touch with him, not knowing that everyone had to leave their apartments for six weeks or more. I eventually discovered that he was OK through a very convoluted grapevine.
He used to send us amazing books - books that we could never ever find in Australia, and they would probably cost the earth anyway if we did. Our younger son is looking forward to inheriting them all.