At the turn of the year I may have said I was done with missing family. Wishful thinking at best. I’m so not able to do that. And I don’t think that’s because of hormones. I just don’t plan on stopping loving them.
But today is my youngest brother’s birthday. It’s unthinkable to me not to acknowledge this. I’m not allowed to contact him, send a card or pass on my best wishes in any way though. This is chiefly because he is a dick of truly biblical proportion.
And remembering that sorts of helps. Missing the notion of him is one thing but wanting him back is perhaps another.
Despite being sent to Coventry in the worst possible way, he did me a favour in the long run. I learned independence. Not in a way I would ever have wished for but I found independence all the same. And I’m stronger for it.
And my life is now pretty much devoid of that level of anger, ignorance and prejudice that seems to drive him. I don’t miss that. At all. For one second.
Instead I just feel increasingly sorry for him and choose to keep missing that boy that grew up in the same house, with the same parents and our other brother. And most importantly, the same values. He has lost them with the same certainty that I’ve lost him. And that’s beyond sad. For all of us. Our Father would not have been impressed at our estrangement. And he should know this.
But for today, I just hope he’s managing to be happier than the angry little man I last looked upon. That’s all I’ll ever want for him. Even angry little men deserve a Happy Birthday.
This is mostly me venting in the worst possible way however. Despite anything I might put across, I love both my brothers very much. Regardless of where we are just now. I live in hope that enough time will rectify everything and nothing lasts forever. Not even banishment. And for my part, the door is wedged firmly open. Patience, I was brought up to believe, is a virtue. I have little of it. Which totally blows. There is always tomorrow.