My Baby Brother
My earliest memory is of me holding my baby brother, I was a little more than three and my brother, a baby maybe about six months old. Dressed in a pink romper, I sat patiently on the carpet as my mother placed him on my lap, in my arms. I held him, I kissed him and I laughed as he tried to get out of my hands – short of a cry. I remember the excitement in my heart to hold him, to love on him. Oh how I loved him. The tail end of that memory was of him rolling off and my mother screaming to catch him.
We grew up together and played together, very often with our cousins. We rolled around the house on these little child-sized arm chairs with wheels on them, chasing each other around the house. I allowed myself to live in a different world with my baby brother. We played army and cops and built forts out of cushions and blankets in our living room. My brother was always the one with ideas, the fun one, the imaginative one, always full of life. I envied his spirit, and loved him for it just the same.
He recently got married to the love of his life. I was elated for him, to imagine him sharing his spirit, his gusto for life with someone he loved. Though it was a strange picture, my brother who was a bachelor as bachelors can be, living life on his own, adventures with his friends, celebrations with his friends, his Instagram feed filled with athletic images of him on the rugby field. He was single and living life. So when he made the phone call to me to let me know he had decided to marry this woman I hadn’t yet met but already loved, I was surprised as much as I was happy. He had found reason to move to the next chapter and I was excited to see where he was headed.
There was nothing that was going to keep me from being at his wedding. I was excited for the celebrations, to see my brother make his adventure official. At the ceremony, he held out his hand and made his vows to cherish and love and care for this woman he had chosen to spend the rest of his life with. Tears ran down my happy face. I tried to make it stop, for fear of ruining my make up, but the streams were steady.
The tears were not only of elation, they were of a realization. My baby brother grew up, there was a huge gap between our childhood games to him starting a family that day. My father sat beside him on a wheelchair, a reminder of the man my brother is. I left home twelve years ago, running away from my painful past and towards my chapters that were written through my healing and restoration. My father had been struck with paralysis and cognitive impairment in a medical event. My brother grew up in those years, he took over the household responsibilities, caring for my father-bathing and feeding and carrying him and caring for him. He had become a safe place for my mother who depended on him to care for the her, a safe place for her to rest her head for comfort. He did all this while balancing his own life. He became a man while I kept up through phone calls and guilt in my gut. My baby brother became an amazing man. I wiped those tears off my cheeks knowing my brother’s shoulders were strong, made by the circumstances of life and my absence to ease his burdens.
The cost to the emigrant, some would say. I was absent in all the pockets of life I would have been much needed support. I walked away to find my life, a life for myself, of myself. What I had not imagined was the hole I would leave behind in the wake of my departure. I couldn’t be there for my parents all these years and so my brother jumped headfirst into figuring out the new life he had to forge to include caring for my parents. He was out of choices because I had chosen to leave. Guilt ate at me with every passing day.
My heart filled with pride watching him put a beautiful ring on his beautiful bride. My heart filled up knowing he was about to share his life with this beautiful woman. He was about to begin a new life with this woman he adored. She had to be special. I was proud of all he had achieved whilst managing my parents’ needs. He was a tremendous show of love and strength and courage. My brother became a man and I had the privilege of watching from afar and cheering him on. A world of humility struck me in this realization. Wrapped in my pain, I had left. I missed out on the little moments to be there for him, to celebrate him but in texts, to hold his hand through the difficult times. But now I stand in pride for all he had become. I was filled with it, I am assured I will continue to feel this way in the times to come.
My leaving was to escape pain in the only way I found possible. Like a raindrop on a lily pad, I had felt like if I moved, I would roll off into the depth of the water, but to hold on would be a perpetual struggle of reconciliation of circumstances. I was healing to survive but my healing would be hurt from leaving. There isn’t a conclusion to this predicament. I arrive in a place of acceptance and guilt, pain and appreciation, pride and humility. In a state of being torn between two worlds, realizing one has become the past in contrast to my present, I long for peace.