Author Information
Brothers
I call him "Bro".
I don't know where I
Picked up the term,
But probably...
It was from some old
Show we watched when
I was a child, back
When the couch was a
Castle and I could
Snuggle up on his
Lap as we watched
Old movies together.
I am sure I annoyed
Him back when I was
Very young,
(Hell, I still do sometimes)
But he was my first
Knight and protector,
Though I wasn't
Aware
Of it at the time.
One grows into such knowledge.
But at ten years my
Elder, we had no true
Rivalry, only a strong
Sibling bond.
Back in the days before
I had to become
Older,
So much older,
Far too fast,
I wore large dresses
That twirled, and
Played make believe
With stuffed animals
That he bought me,
Not really wondering
Why a young man of
15-17 would even
Have a job in the
First place.
I didn't question the
Times that I would
Wake in the night,
Shaken by nightmares
And childish imaginings
Of monsters under the
Bed, and go not to
My parent's door, but
My brother's.
A child's instincts
Can be very strong.
I didn't question how
Stiffly he moved
Sometimes, or how
He would carefully
Inform me he wasn't
Really up for playing.
A child also misses
A lot of subtle clues.
But when he moved out
At age eighteen
And never looked back
I began to understand.
And when he would return
To visit, spending hours
Anxiously hovering around
Me, asking how I was
Doing,
I would paint on a smile.
He always knew, though.
It was even more telling
That when shortly after
I turned eighteen myself,
He offered to let me
Move in with him,
One thousand miles from home.
I took him up without
Needing to think about
It, and that is when
His suspicions were
Confirmed.
He stopped talking to
My parents shortly
Afterwards, and hasn't
Made contact with them
For several years now.
I can't really say I blame him.
But I can't bring
Myself to do the same,
Maybe it's just that
I am younger, or that
I see the world differently.
Or it could be that
I know
If things get to be
Too much,
He will always have
My back.
My Brother Had A Stoke
then swelled up all over and was cursing like a Sailor wishes he could curse. I sent pictures, sent encouragement, then stopped...last time we met, he said he would not come visit me. I asked why and he did not answer. Life is short and then you die. I will see him again at his funeral probably. Then I will leave early and not go to the graveyard . . . way too many memories there. At 64, I avoid stress if possible. Nice reminescence. It is about families. ~slc~ (p.s. I went to the hospital, the nursing home, the hospice and graveyard. It's what we do.)