There are three things I'm absolutely certain about:

1. Mom is the strongest woman I know.

2. I'll never, ever do anything stupid enough to get me locked up in a juvenile detention center or any other sort of correctional facility.

3. I love my brother.

Mom and I went to see Cooper at Circleville Juvenile Correctional Facility today. Visitation times are really limited and you need to make a reservation to get in. I was lucky that mom somehow managed to put me on the visitors' list on short notice.

We arrived there around 9:30 am, which meant we had another 30 minutes until we could enter, so we decided to grab a coffee at a little place close by. Mom and I sat down in the far corner of the room. I studied her face while she was looking out of the window, absentmindedly sipping at her coffee.

There are a couple of things about your parents that you only notice when you get older.

As a kid, I only saw her as my mom, the person who laughs and plays with you, who comforts you when you've fallen down and encourages you to get up again, the person who praises you when you've done well and tells you off when you've been misbehaving, and the person who sings a lullaby to you every single evening before she kisses you goodnight. She was my mom, nothing more and nothing less.

But today, I saw more than that. For the first time in my life, I consciously caught a glimpse of the woman who's my mom. I guess I've seen her before, the night I came out to my parents and I found her alone in the living room after I came back from the treehouse, but I didn't realize what it was that struck me that much about seeing her cry back then.

I do now. The woman who is my mom is suffering immensely. I could see it all over her face. I saw it in the way she was constantly creasing her brow and wearily rubbing her temples now and then while trying to put on an encouraging smile. I saw it in the way the small wrinkles around her mouth have increased and her skin looked so much paler than usual. But most of all, I saw it in her eyes. They are very similar to mine, and as a kid, I used to think of them as sparkling pools of chocolate I'd happily drown in, full of life and happiness and laughter.

Now the sparkle is gone.

Honestly, I have no idea how she manages to handle all of this. She's the one who's holding on to all of us, even if we try to get away from each other all the time. She's the only reason why we're all still functioning. She's a wife to my dad, who is probably the most difficult person on the whole planet and I don't think he'd ever find anyone else who'd be willing to keep up with him if mom ever decided to leave, she's visiting my brother in juvie and at the same time trying to comfort me and guide me through all of my mess. And she's always, always there, even though we really give her nothing in return most of the time.

She's the strongest person I know, and I owe her everything. We all do.

I'll have to keep that in mind.

Anyway, after we'd finished our coffee, we made our way back to the detention center and went through the time consuming security procedure. Twenty minutes later, a guard led us through a long, dark hallway to the visitation area. We passed a few cells and something that looked like a common room. There had obviously been some sort of fight, because two guards were pressing a guy face down to the floor while another guard was restraining a second boy in a corner. A couple of others had gathered around the scene, laughing and clapping. One guy looked at me when we passed by and yelled something that sounded suspiciously like "Hey pretty boy! Nice ass!".

When we entered the visitation area, Cooper was already waiting for us. I had to look twice before I even realized it was him, though.

He looked horrible.

I have never seen him like that before. His skin was pale and his eyes were sunken in as if he hadn't slept at all in days, and he looked so much smaller than I remembered him. He must have lost a lot of weight, as the clothes he was wearing were dangling around his body, and when he looked up, I saw that his cheek bones and chin looked much more prominent than before.

What hadn't changed was his smile, though. When he saw Mom and me, he smiled his famous crooked smile that used to win everyone over in a second. It was the kind of smile that made his entire face light up and the little dimples in his cheeks show and his blue eyes sparkle.

And in that moment, I knew that he wasn't broken. Bruised, yes, but not broken, and I felt so relieved I wanted to start crying right on the spot.

We sat down at the table where he had been waiting for us, and all I wanted to do was hug him, but I didn't know if I'd be allowed to. He answered the question for me when he got up and turned around to the guard who was watching us. The guard just gave a small nod, and Cooper walked over to me and pulled me into a tight hug. We stayed like that for a long moment, just clinging to each other, and again, I had to fight the urge to burst into tears. It felt so good to have him back. I never realized how much I loved Cooper before he was gone, and I felt so guilty for not reaching out to him right away. In that moment, I knew that no matter what was ahead, I'd never make the same mistake again.

When he pulled away and sat down, I could see that he was crying. Mom took his hand and squeezed it gently. We all just looked at each other in silence for a couple of minutes.

Then he started talking and it felt as if we'd never been apart. It was so much easier than I had imagined. At first, we talked about anything and everything. He told me about his daily routine and the therapy sessions he had to attend, complained about the crappy food and his obnoxious roommate and rambled about how he was looking forward to the day he got out of here and would finally be able to wear his own clothes again. While he was talking, he absentmindedly played with his sleeve. He pushed it up a bit and I could see a large dark bruise on his right wrist. I must have been staring, because he pulled down his sleeve immediately. He squinted at mom, shook his head slightly and gave me a pleading look. I knew he didn't want me to ask.

He told me he was enrolled at the high school of the detention center, which turned out to be not that bad, so he would still be able to graduate, and he had obviously applied to Ohio State University and a couple of other schools that might accept him despite his background.

I'm so proud of him. It seems he really wants to get back on track.

Then, out of the blue, he asked me how I'd been holding up.

We only had about 30 minutes of our visitation time left when I started talking, but I somehow managed to tell him everything, from the day I was forced out of the closet to the day I met John. I didn't tell him about my problems with dad, though, because mom was there and I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Cooper just sat there and listened, creasing his brow or shaking his head every now and then. When I'd finished, he smiled at me and took my hand, and I knew I'd always have his support.

And then, Mom put her hand on top of ours, and we just sat there, holding on to each other, until the guard told us that our time was up and we'd have to leave.

The ride home was silent, but it was a comfortable silence. We listened to the local radio station's tribute to Simon and Garfunkel, and I couldn't help tearing up a bit when they were playing "Bridge Over Troubled Water".

When we arrived, she parked the car in our driveway, and we just sat there for another minute or so before she pulled me into a tight embrace.

I haven't felt this happy in a long time.

P.S. When I asked Cooper why he never commented on me being gay in his letter, he just smiled that crooked smile of his and said: "Because I've known for a while, little bro. Besides, it doesn't make any difference. I don't care if you're gay, straight, purple, orange or dinosaur, you'll always be my baby brother who I love with all my heart." This man! Gosh, how I love my brother. I just hope and pray they won't hurt him again in there.