As you can tell from the last post, it's been a rough week emotionally too.
For a short while, I thought I finally had my feelings about my brothers in check. Sort of felt like it was over. Maybe it was. But a couple events have brought it all back. Frankly, I miss them.
Last Saturday night, I had a dream that seemed so real. I was sleeping and my phone kept ringing. I finally answered. It was my sister in law. Something had happened to my brother and his kids. Before I found out what, I woke up. I was shaking. Checked my phone. Nothing. Relieved, but the reality of how easily that could happen would not leave me. It bothered me for days and I was never so relieved to see a random post from one of them on fb.
The next day, I learned that one of my little brothers classmates had passed. Keep in mind, we are from a town of 2000. Everybody knew everybody growing up. We are older, so we expect this kind of thing to start happening eventually. I've lost two classmates, one to suicide and another to drug overdose. My middle brother has lost a few more for a variety of reasons. This was my little brothers first class loss. That first one is always a little shocking.
Once I got more information, I learned this wasn't just any classmate. This was also the brother of one of my classmates. He was a kid that I spent time with when we were younger. He was 37 and died of a massive heart attack.
Things get even more real when it's a situation where you can see yourself. I'd be devastated to lose one of my brothers. It brought up a lot of thoughts and conversation about what I'd do if that happened.
This guy had lived a rough life. But, I'll always think of him as a child. His laugh and honesty. Him playing and riding bikes like little boys do. I can't hardly imagine him gone. That's honestly the way I see my brothers in these days of missing them. I see them as children. Innocent children, not understanding how the world is going to break them.
Last night, we handed out candy at our church trunk or treat. We live in a small and somewhat poor area. There were some elaborate costumes, but most were children from the church. Same with pre made costumes. What we saw a lot of were what we call "grandmas bathroom closet costumes." That's when you throw make up on to look spooky and wear oversized adult clothes. It's also known as the poor kids costume.
I'm not judging. We wore the poor kids costumes. I wore my softball uniform and my grandma drew stitches on my face one year. One of my brothers used an old wheelchair, clown wig, and awful makeup with grandpas overalls. What the heck? We saw a lot of that kind of thing last night. Random stuff. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate creativity when you don't have money for store bought costumes.
So much of it reminded me of my brothers. Little and fun. I usually had to come up with a costume. I was the one who walked them all over town. It was usually a night where we left the fear of our home and enjoyed the fright of Halloween.
I came home last night with this weird conflict inside me. We all wished to grow up fast. All of us wanted out. It felt like it took forever, but we all got out of the house and I got out completely. But, I wish they could have stayed little.
There are times I wish they were little so I could still influence them. I know that can't happen. I also know that none of us loved being little enough to ever make it worth living in hell again. There was a bliss about being naive in how quickly life changes and the fear of loss. That's the reason I wish they could have stayed little.
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