Thank you, Taylor Swift.

You Belong With Me. You love Taylor Swift, and that song. You’ve never told me this yourself, but when I sing it, your face does. I daresay you love me more than Taylor herself, who will never give you an exploding high five or make you chocolate chip cookies. At 30, you are moving to a group home, and change is in the air. You are unconcerned. I think, my sister Suzy says, Drew is ready for this.

There’s a queen-size bed in your new bedroom, and a book Suzy put together for your caregivers about you and what makes you tick, things you would mention yourself, if you could. Maybe it’s a little over the top, Suzy says, but it makes me feel better.

I ask you for a hug and you oblige as you always do, quick, belly first. I whisper I love you, Drew in your ear. You grin and shake your head just a little, like yeah, I know, that tickles.

Suzy said her friend told her it reminded her of setting up a college dorm room, and Suzy’s going with that, only your next step isn’t campus life but supported independence. Still, Drew. A beginning, not the end of anything. This positive spin doesn’t prevent tears from gathering in my throat. You Belong With Me loops through my head, reinforcing itself from our playful ritual to a reliable bridge we’ve built that will always take us back to us.