Like a lot of kids, I had an imaginary friend until I was about 9 or 10. I don?t remember playing with him, but I do vaguely remember going to see a psychiatrist about him. I described him as looking like me (red hair, glasses) and having the same birthday as I do, and I called him G because my first name starts with a G, according to my mother. As I grew up, G faded away.
Fast forward to my 20th birthday. I came home from college for a dinner with my parents and younger siblings. We?re joking around about our childhoods when my sister mentions G. My dad gets quiet and my mom goes pale. She demands we drop the subject. The next day, after my siblings had gone, my parents sit me down and explain that I had a twin brother who died when we were about a year old; he had a congenital heart problem and passed away during surgery. They had elected not to tell me, although they couldn?t really explain why. My mom kept the letters G and I wrote to each other (mostly scribbles) and all the pictures I drew of he and I playing. She thinks I was with my brother.
I had an imaginary friend who may have been my deceased brother.