Scraped Knees
The birth of my brother, a short four years and some odd months after I made my grand entrance into the world, squashed my status as the baby of the family. I remember resentment and the smell of baby powder. It's funny how the four-year-old mind processes things. I loved him. I hated him. I wanted him to just go away. I wanted to protect him with every fiber of my being.
From very early on in my childhood, I would dream about him. I would dream that he was in trouble, and I would wake up crying. It was always something that I couldn't change, couldn't interrupt, couldn't chase away, and in my dreams, I would shriek until I was hoarse, watching helplessly as harm befell this red-headed, pain-in-the-ass, won't-listen-to-anyone brother of mine.
I don't write about my brother much. His late teens were a tumultuous time, and he made many choices that drove a giant wedge between himself and the rest of us. We have reached out again and again, only to be slapped away, and kicked for good measure. I loved the boy he was, pain-in-the-ass who stole my position as the baby of the family but good. I do not know the man he has become. The dreams of peril continued in earnest, tinged with anger. He didn't hear me. He wouldn't hear me.
We had a brief chance, this last year. He came around, seemed interested in knowing us, if only superficially. We hoped. In an all-too familiar fireball of lies and cruel behavior, he has once again kicked the door shut. We've been down this road before with him. How long will it be this time. A year? Three years? Ten?
I had a dream last night. My husband and I, my parents, my children, my sister... we all were at a fantastic theme park, having a wonderful time. The kids were winding down, and long shadows were stretching across the blacktop as the lights on the rides started to come on. We rested on a bench, and I noticed a little red-headed boy, about seven or eight years old, running down the path. He fell and skinned his knees, and then pulled himself up into a sitting position, and wrapped his arms around his knees, tears in his eyes, but not making a sound.
My dad walked over to the kid and put a hand out and said, "Are you okay, son?" And this kid, it was my little brother, and he stood up and threw his arms around my dad's waist and he said "I'm so happy I found you!"
I woke up sobbing again. I wish he could be seven again and start over. I wish he would embrace my dad and be happy to know us again.
I wish he would hear me.
Comments
Oh, Jenny. This is so sad. I hate that he has made the choice to not have you in his life. I hope he one day realizes what he's missing and takes the chance to make it right. And I hope it will be before you all become so disillusioned that you cannot accept him back. My thoughts are with you and your family. I hope, I hope, I hope.
Posted by: Elaine | January 28, 2006 10:19 PM
Jenny, I have tears in my eyes.
I'm so sorry for him, and for you, and your family.
Posted by: Carmen | January 29, 2006 4:10 AM
Oh sweetie. Big lump in my throat. *hugs*
Posted by: Mir | January 29, 2006 6:16 AM
Jenny, this is all too familiar to me. My little brother has blonde hair, but the rest, down to the four year age difference is eerily similar. I often wish that I could go back and find the turning point, the magical, horrible place where "it all went wrong," and fix it. I have those same dreams where I can't protect him from whatever is hurting him.
This is a wonderful post, Jenny. But it will haunt me for days.
Posted by: buffi | January 29, 2006 7:04 AM
I, too, have a brother like that. HAD, is a better word I guess. I'm the youngest of seven, and he was the middle child and the second of two sons. My oldest brother wanted nothing to do with him (or any of us for that matter) and my father ignored him in favor of his eldest.
He eventually turned to alcohol, drugs, crime, and God only knows what else, until a drug dealer put him out of what could only be called misery.
He would resurface in our lives periodically - sometimes after he'd get out of jail. I never really knew him and it's a relationship I will mourn forever.
Posted by: Candy | January 29, 2006 10:06 AM
There are more of us in this situation that you know. My only sibling, a brother, older by 5 years, has not contacted me in over eight years. I have no idea where in the world he is. Or even if he is alive. I hope your brother comes back and realizes what a fabulous sister he's got.
Posted by: Dawn | January 29, 2006 10:15 AM
I don't think there's any pain quie so keen as loss within a family. I'm sorry for your loss.
Posted by: Lin | January 29, 2006 11:21 AM
I have a younger brother by 4 years as well, Jenny, and we went thru much of the same things. It took seeing a couple of friends, his best friend and his fiancee dying within one year to shake him awake. Not even his daughter (now 7) could make him straighten up. But he finally has, and it's been a little over 2 years that he's been clean and straight. We can actually have a conversation now, without even mentioning drugs. We actually laugh together, and it is so nice to know I finally have a brother.
I'm praying for you to have this turn around too one day. HUGS.
Posted by: Shanonn | January 29, 2006 1:20 PM
This post brought tears to my eyes, too. I'm so sorry that your brother seemingly doesn't want to be a part of such a loving family. It's difficult to watch those we love make poor choices and battle demons we can't always see.
Posted by: Mary | January 29, 2006 7:27 PM
This was beautiful, and so sad. I am so very sorry...I know how dreams can hurt you in the day-to-day. If only there was a going-back.
Posted by: Anna | January 29, 2006 9:04 PM
ahhh I feel your pain, I have a sister like that, she is older though, the fall of 2004 we got a call that she was missing and the police ended up finding her on skid row in downtown Vancouver BC....alive but a mess, she is doing better now but we all hold our breath waiting for the next phone call.
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