He's not generally this happy to hear from me. We don't speak that often. But the current health crisis precipitated by my step-father's stroke and my mother's precipitous decline into a deeper dementia have brought us together again. Yet, although we are both adults, having lived many decades apart since our youth, we are still, sometimes, Big Sister and Little Brother. I was literally the Big Sister until he suddenly shot up past me like Jack's Beanstalk to nearly six feet. I can't remember when that happened. Like so many things.
For years, I have tried to understand the affect my father's death had on me. It's only since I've entered psychoanalysis that I've begun to get a fuzzy understanding of how his death might have affected my brother. We hardly talk about "Daddy" at all. I'd like to, but I think it's too painful for him. Or maybe, he just doesn't want to talk to me about it. You see, I believe my Little Brother has been angry at me all these years. I let him down, and I wasn't aware of it. There's nothing I could have changed, but my father's death resulted in an unexpected casualty - the death of our family.
This is a very powerful post, especially with the photograph.
ReplyDeleteIf it's hard to understand the effect of one's parents on oneself, it's doubly hard to understand their effect on a sibling. Especially when communication with the sibling is impaired. Today, as it happens, I feel as though I could write a book about this.
You're experiencing momentous events, both external and internal.
Dr. B. returned today, and was very excited about my blogging. Her take - "you continued to do the work"! She was positively gleeful.
ReplyDeleteShe had a strong reaction to the photo as well. My brother and I really look happy, and I think we were. My father was the photographer, as always. I've talked about the themes in this post with her during the past few months, but feel as though I've just grazed the surface.
If you ever write your book, please let me know. I'd love to read it.
I don't know if you've ever been to summer camp. Every summer, for one week, the camp was split into two competing teams, each one representing one of the camp's colors - Color War. Although my brother and I struggle to communicate, at the moment, I feel as though he and I are on the Grey team, and my step-sister in on the Green team.
Perhaps I'm too close to it, but the events of the moments don't seem momentous (although I suspect you are absolutely correct about that). They are floating around me, even as I stay fairly grounded.