I have never taken the time to write about him…I can hardly breathe when I think of being in the world without him. I hope he never reads this because it will pierce his heart – because he loves so hard.
My baby brother – that I didn’t want. (I thought it would be better to have a little sister.) What did I know about boys? Nothin’ – nor was I interested in learning about them. But then they brought that little piglet home. Lord, he was a happy baby (in the daytime). He didn’t sleep all night until he was speaking in complete sentences – but that wasn’t my problem. hee hee
We are almost 10 years apart. in his early years, I adored him. He amused me. He annoyed me. In the later years, I adored him. He amused me. We lived far apart.
He was/is kind, sensitive, funny, respectful, joyful, enthusiastic, talented and loving – and then the losses started to mount.
We were born to the same idealistic, self-centered, unceasingly loving mother. Both of our mother’s children are sensitive to a fault and were raised to be fully unprepared for the truth of the hate and ugliness of the world. We have different fathers but were raised by the same dad – to the extent that we could be raised at all.
When he was 11 years old our parents divorced within months of our grandmother’s death (the only thing that kept my mother from going ahead with it a year before). I was already well on my way to isolation out of self-preservation. I called it moving to start my career – but I was running away from the immense fear and disillusionment our parent’s divorce created.
So began his adventure with new substitute moms and their families – without me.
I realized recently that we all fill in the blanks of the wins and losses with our own version of “Why?” She broke up with me because I’m not pretty enough –
only to find out years later that she broke up with me because she was ashamed that her father was an alcoholic and created a lousy home environment
that she didn’t want anyone to see. In fact, she never got over me
but we both moved on, ignoring the hole, never really filling it.
That previous paragraph is a sort of commercial break in the story. I wonder what “Why?” my brother wrote when our parents divorced, and I moved away and… – I just wonder if that story overtook his sense of self.
He’s experienced incredible, horrifying loss. In high school, two cars of friends following each other to the next stop on their night out. The head car involved in an accident. My brother’s car was following…rushed to find his best friend mortally wounded, died in my brother’s arms. Then he went to “war” – with the Army in Kuwait. My brother is a painter, an artist. He took the military option because it was what my dad had done out of high school. Never had he been so committed to someone else’s path.
Another friend also deployed, although with the Marines. He had a somewhat longer military career. When he returned home they picked up and carried on their friendship – growing closer, standing up for each other – in life and at friends’ weddings. My brother was godfather to their 2nd child, this time a girl. Christmases, birthdays, backyard BBQs until the cancer his friend had been fighting for years gained footing – and took my brother’s best friend – again.
My brother tried to stay connected to the kids, while their mom was trying to move on. Her new beau was unwell and more dangerous than anyone really knew – until he murdered those kids, their mother and grandmother one night as they were trying to separate.
These stories are breathtaking in their ugliness, and my brother was very near or in the center of the heartbreak. I fear there is little left of the joy that my brother used to carry.
He has remained single – even though his love for children (all children) didn’t pan out into being a father, he is a great “uncle” to the kids of friends. There have been a couple of special women, but ultimately, there has been no long-term match.
My brother and I are very different people. I am spiritual, he is atheist. I am high-strung, he is laid back. I am indignant, he is humble. There are easily a hundred different days I wish I could do-over with him, simply because I think we could change both of our stories for the better. Writing this I am reminded that I can do more days now – I need to leave the rear-view mirror out of this.
There are but a few people that I would stand in front of should the bullets start to fly – he remains the first. Maybe because we’d argue about who should get to play the shield.
Sing. Sing a song. Make it simple to last our whole life long. Don’t worry that it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing. Sing a song.
La la la la la
La la la la la la
La la la la la la la
