The year I left was 1993. It was a tough year – let’s face it, everyone has a rough life at 12 – but mine was really bad. I was passed first from my Grandma’s house to my Aunt’s house. When that didn’t work out, I was sent to the dry, desolate New Mexico wasteland to live with some family member I never met. But, I suppose I should back up a bit…
My brother and I went through a whole lot of stuff together at too young of an age: death, abandonment, neglect, etc. My fifth grade teacher provided a safe haven for us, in which we both (theoretically) flourished. But two years later, I was back at my Grandma’s house, leaving my brother behind with the teacher and his wife. From his perspective, there was no resolution and no explanation, which resulted in no contact and, as far as he understood, my abandonment of him.
No wonder he didn’t talk to me for a long time.
I made a few efforts to reach out over the years, but each time I was rejected the sharp sting left me burrowing underground to lick my wounds. My Grandpa witnessed my emotional withdrawal, and told me to let him go. He said he would come back when he was ready.
Cosmically enough, the day he was ready was the day after I found out about my Grandpa’s stage III lung cancer. I couldn’t even make that up.
A few rounds of awkward emails were passed back and forth, with me attempting to mask my delight in fear of scaring him away again. He eventually suggested dinner. I squealed and danced, while coolly replying back with a “sure, why not, what the fuck do I have to lose?” type email. I lied. I had everything to lose.
Fast-forward to a freezing Seattle evening, walking through the door at Hopvine. I felt my heart leaping out of my chest as I tried to slow down my breathing while I struggled to adjust my vision through my watering eyes, all while waving both hands enthusiastically (and awkwardly). By the time I reached the table at the back wall of the restaurant, he was standing up with open arms. Our embrace immediately thawed all the aches, and my fear floated away like pieces of a dandelion.
Two hours later, 16 years of pain and heartache and misunderstandings and loneliness were addressed. We searched each others face, startled by how much we look alike now. Heavy topics mingled with joking and laughter, and our partners were brought back in to conversations.
Whatever happens from here, I don’t know. But healing has begun, and it feels so damn good. It’s nice to finally have my brother again.
Spring cleaning
Change is in the air. I’ve been riding this wave of tumult since leaving for Denmark in August, and the motion hasn’t stopped yet. I’ve found myself holding my breath, just waiting for a lull to find the space to relax and find my center.
It won’t happen any time soon.
Don’t get me wrong: I like this whirlwind of emotion and activity. Stagnancy is death, or something like that. I just wish that I was better able to adjust. Somewhere between 22 and 29, I lost my zeal for the unpredictable. I find myself worrying and panicking over the most ridiculous things. I’m grasping to control something. Anything. And it’s driving me nuts.
But, as they say, the show must go on. I’m gonna love on and kiss and smoosh all the people that makes me happy until the scene too closely resembles Generic Romantic Comedy where everyone is happy and in love. (The negative stuff? Oh, it’s not even on my radar anymore.)
All the positivity and warmth are going to make the masses barfy. Life is good, love is good, all is good. This, my friends, is spring cleaning.