He Ain't Heavy
I had a lot of imaginary friends between the ages of 4 and 8. I always acted like I had a brother or sister. Actually, when I was young, I never thought too much about life with a sister. A man and a woman were supposed to get married and have one boy and one girl. Where I'd come up with that, I have no idea.I remember when my mom had a miscarriage. I was around four. We still lived in our little trailer before my dad and his brother and father built our house. I remember the crying. I have fuzzy images of me standing in the living room asking my dad, "What's wrong with Mommy?" while she was in the bathroom crying. I haven't ever told my mom I can remember.
My mom still thinks about it. It had happened at Halloween. Some time ago, I was sitting at the computer dialed on line, and my mom signed on. She sent me this instant message, "He/She would have been 18 years old." Freaked me out.
So, a few years later when my mom accidentally got pregnant, I was ecstatic. I remember how I found out. I had stayed at her father's farm during the summer. Her and Dad came to pick me up, and she was sitting on the couch in the living room with her purse next to her. Sitting at the top of the purse was a box with a picture of a baby on it (looking back, it must have been prenatal vitamins). I was like, "What is that?" She smiled and said, "We have news."
So, my brother was born. I only remember a couple of things about that day. Mainly, the foreverness in the waiting room with my grandmother. She taught me how to do "Fill-It-In" puzzles (thanks for the addiction, grandmother). There are pictures of me first seeing my baby brother, and my eyes are wide with shock, and my mouth is hanging open. My mom says, "What were you thinking?" I have no idea. I have absolutely no recollection of that moment. I didn't know someone was taking a photo. I wonder what my first impression of my brother was.
I know what my impression of my brother was a few weeks later: Take him back from whence he came. For my nearly eight-years-old mind, he changed everything in my life. My mom was owner/director of a daycare center in town, and my parents had to close it down and file bankruptcy during that year. My life of fancy toys and pretty clothes came to a halt. My mom changed. As a mother of two small kids now, I can totally relate. But, back then I got bitter and resentful towards her and in turn towards the baby. My parents fought. All of the financial troubles and my lashing out and the stresses of a new baby took their toll.
The favorite story told is that when my mom would leave the room, my brother would start crying. So, one time she sneaked back to the doorway and caught me holding his nose. I honestly remember being intrigued that he couldn't breath out of his mouth. I was trying to teach him how! No one believes me.
The second favorite story is that I locked him in his toy trunk when I was left to babysit. My dad told me that I had only been born to later become my brother's babysitter. I honestly believed him back then, and it infuriated me.
My memories from around a seven year time span is of how much I thought I hated him. He broke into my room, disregarding the "Keep Out!" sign posted especially for him, and used my staple gun to embed staples all over my favorite photos I had painstakingly assembled on a memo board. We learned to fight mean. I called him "Nosak" a lot. I did because he had no idea what it meant as he didn't understand about spelling his name backwards. But, because he didn't understand what I was calling him, it would make him so angry he would turn colors. We laugh about it now, of course. In reminiscence, I called him "Nosak" the other day, and he replied, "Hmph, gigantic sack!" Give me a break.
When my parents split, they've told me how concerned they were about him, but not me. I was smart and tough, they say. Mom had always babied my brother though since she had had a hard time delivering him, and his heart had stopped beating a couple of times before they performed a c-section. And then he had been a real sick baby, so I had a hard time dealing with the extra attention he received. He had learned how to use this to his advantage by this time. One example was how he would rub his arm until it was bright red and go tell one of them how I had hurt him. They always believed him.
During the years after I moved out of my mom's house, I didn't keep contact with anyone much. I don't know anything about my brother from that time. I would always say that he was going to grow up and become a convict because of what a terror he was to me, and I too had a part of me that figured my parents sad situation would affect him negatively.
When I was married and then had my son was when things changed. My mom and I finally built a bridge between us, and I started to spend time with my brother. He played baseball, and I never missed a game that summer. My husband was overseas, and my brother came to stay with me. I found that I love him very much.
My brother just turned 18 years old and graduated from highschool. I can't believe it. He is one my favorite people on this earth. I am in awe of his morals and his convictions and how he carries himself. He is a smart guy with a lot of common sense for his age. He reminds me of me in so many ways, yet I am appreciative for his differences. It is amazing how sarcasm and cynicism can enter into one's wit at such a young age. Yeah, he reminds me of me.
What if he goes away for college or just to start a new life? I will be
proud of him and hug him and tell him good luck. I will want to hug him and tell him he can't go. He can't not just be across town for us to run to the mall together or go sit at Sonic or come to my apartment and shoot the breeze.
I'm glad I have my brother. It took several years for me to be so glad. It sure has been worth all the trouble though.
