This post may not be of the same tone I generally try to live my life by. We all get down and the best way I know how to deal with hurt is to write.
My brother died last week. He was too young to pass, but his health just never could catch up to his spirit. He always made me laugh...always! He was quick to find the funny in a situation and I have to think very hard to remember him being cross or angry. It just wasn't in his nature. He was not perfect, but none of us are. He was my brother and I loved him.
You will notice that I call him my brother. Not my step-brother, just my brother.
It may be just me, but "step" can still carry a negative connotation. His father and my mother blended our families when I was 7 and he was almost six. I can't remember ever introducing any of my siblings as anything other than "my sister" or "my brother". When we were young most of the people in our small town knew how we became family. Mostly, I didn't want to put any negativity into the situation. (Guess I was the Hopeful Romantic way back then even!)
Since my brother died, I have heard some people refer to me as "the step-sister". They may not mean anything by it, but I feel it detracts from the memory of my brother. And, yes, it hurts my feelings.
I don't want this to be about me, but I know Phil never said "step". I was just his sister.
To borrow from the Bard, A brother by any other name would smell as sweet.
The Hopeful Romantic