Forever 32

It is this man's birthday today.

I have loved my big brother a lifetime

and missed him for 34 years.

I also still love denim.

Eleven Eleven Eleven

My big brother was a Marine in Vietnam.

He returned but he never came home.

I loved him so much.

Around Here

Oh Christmas. You have to fight for Christmas.

Fight crowds.

Fight impulses.

Fight over-spending.

Fight demons.

Fight memories.

Fight resentment.

Or at least I always have.

My brother died at Christmas. We have fought to have Christmas most years since. Sadness. memories, bad ones. Last year Christmas was so dark.

Good lord, are you still even reading this?

I was wrapping gifts last night. I was flooded with Christmases from so long ago. The sweet Christmases when I was a child and all the kids were there. All four of us. Before addiciton and depression took my brother and sister away. But as I loaded boxes, folded tissue paper, removed prices, dispensed tape, they were just memories. They did not yoke. They did not tie a concrete block around my ankle and throw me off the deep end. They did not tie me to empty graves. They were just feelings.

Melancholy? Yes. Edge of depression? No.

Wow. Is this what "normal" people feel? Just memories and love? Not fear and loathing? I think I grew up this year. I have been present with this Christmas. I have not been a grinch. I have done all the tasks I always do but they did not feel like a burden. For the first year EVER.

This year has brought such fatigue, pain, anger and love. A grand miracle came this year, some smaller miracles as well. Can a miracle be small? A miracle can be large. That is for sure. I had one of those. I haven't shared it yet. But the timing was miracluous which is redundant. A birth. A saviour in a sense.

I look forward to my little family this year. My brother here with me. Mother. My husband and daughter. The other daughters seen and to be seen. All in order just for now.

And I feel grateful. I receive these gifts.

I fought for them and I am going to enjoy them.

Let's have a cup of hot chocolate, sit with your holiday lights.

Be.

I will Be.

The Adored One is Born

By all accounts, he was the most beautiful baby ever born. Let me be more accurate. By my mother's account, he was the most beautiful baby anyone had ever seen. People stopped her to say so. He was my mother's most beloved child.

I didn't mind it all. I loved him most too.

He was 17 years old when I was born. You know how 17 year old boys are. We have all been in love with a seventeen year old boy, including most heterosexual men according to statistics. And I was so in love with my big brother.

Funny, brilliant, handsome. He even hung the moon. Did you know how it got there, why, it was my big brother.

I loved him so very much. I didn't mind at all that my mother loved him most. There were baby pictures and little boy pictures. Pictures with Santa. Pictures with the boy scout troup that dad lead. Pictures on a horse and in his little pee stained tiny cowboy boots. Lots of pictures of a boy I never knew.

And I adored him.

He would pick me up by one arm and one leg and swing me around in the yard. He would call me turdhopper and ask me to snatch peebles from his hand, made me leave the temple when I could not.

He was interested in medicine and God.

He played the guitar and harmonica simultaneously. Hideously.

Keith, Keith. So many years ago, full of hope. Then something happened to him. I was too young to hear any of it, or know, or be aware. My family considered me to young to hear any of it. To this day.

I am starting to figure it out though.

World Autism Awareness Day

This day 2 April is World Autism Awareness Day. http://www.worldautismawarenessday.org/site/c.egLMI2ODKpF/b.3917065/k.BE58/Home.htm

Because autism is so prevalent, many of you are aware of it already, daily, often painfully. Many of you are unaware of the quiet struggle that this and other related challenges bring.

My sweet brother Kerry. Once diagnosed with severe mental retardation, at a certain point his diagnosis changed to autism. He doesn't speak. He has never said my name. He doesn't acknowledge hello or good bye. He lives in a community with others with severe disabilities. There is so much he cannot do.

What he can do is enjoy a meal. He loves meals and sweets. He can enjoy his rest. He dutifully puts on pajamas and sleeps with reckless abandon. He has a job and works 32 hours per week at a recycling plant because he is able to focus for long periods on repetitive tasks. This trait I definitely share with him. He uses the money he earns to buy Diet Coke which he slurps with joy.

He does not complain about work. He does not complain about his hair. He does not complain about his weight. He doesn't care what car you drive, where you live or that his shirt says "Polo." He does not know there are people who receive millions of dollars to stay at a job they are doing poorly. He does not know the hunger and rapes and abuse throughout this world. He does not know the oceans are full of plastic that we keep throwing away like it doesn't matter.

He doesn't know people recklessly use the word "retarded" to describe stupid or ugly. But I do. He cannot say "don't use the "r" word. But I can.

Here is to Kerry and a brain he could not use at his own will. And to you who can.