TheBanyanTree: To my brother

[Monique Colver]

I think my brother was lucky to survive his childhood.

Monique
Sent from my iPad

> On Apr 7, 2019, at 3:29 PM, Laura Hicks <wolfljsh at gmail.com> wrote:
> 
> Absolutely beautiful, Monique.
> 
> Laura
> wolfljsh at gmail.com
> 
> On Sun, Apr 7, 2019 at 5:50 PM Monique Colver <monique.colver at gmail.com>
> wrote:
> 
>> Writing things down in case I forget them and.
>> 
>> The day you were born I wasn't there, I was probably at home, where I
>> spent much of my time. Mom hated me hanging around the house so much, I was
>> a constant thorn in her side. So she was there when you were born. I do
>> remember smuggling alcohol in to her. Dad said, "Put this under your
>> shirt," So I walked into the maternity ward looking like a 13 year old
>> slightly pregnant girl, the shaker under my shirt clinking with ice,
>> because gin and tonics needed to be served cold.
>> 
>> You were not breast fed.
>> 
>> Dad and I went into Mom's room and she was sitting up, looking her normal
>> self, as if she hadn't recently pushed you out. The gin and tonic helped I
>> think.
>> 
>> Next thing I knew, you were at home. There was one bedroom at the end of
>> the hallway that I'd previously shared with our sisters, but they were
>> moved out and on with their own adult lives. The room was long, and when
>> you moved in you got the half on the door side. A divider was put up in the
>> middle of the room and I was on the other side. We each had a window, but
>> my side was dark, just the right place for someone like me. Yours was
>> bright and smelled of baby powder.
>> 
>> One time I had you on the changing table, changing you. Your Mom was out,
>> so I was in charge of you. The boys and Dad were all watching TV in the
>> family room. I turned to get something, a silly move on my part, and you
>> rolled over and fell on the floor. I was so upset! I'd rather bash my own
>> head in. Dad came to check, but when I picked you up and put you back on
>> the table you acted as if nothing had happened.
>> 
>> It was my job to keep you safe, and change diapers, and feed you, and
>> entertain you, and I was very concerned about doing it all properly because
>> I loved  this tiny creature so much. Sure, you had a Mom, but I was the
>> stand in.
>> 
>> When we moved to Hacienda Heights I had my own room, and you had to room
>> with someone else. I'd never minded rooming with you. We'd spend so much
>> time together anyway. I'd take you to pre-school, pick you up from
>> pre-school, take you to the store with me, entertain you while Mom waan't
>> there. You were always asking me why. Why this, why that, why. So many
>> whys, and I didn't always have answers. But you forgave me.
>> 
>> I was there when you fell and hit the side of your head on the glass
>> coffee table, right next to your eye. Chaos ensued. Fortunately Mom was
>> there too, and we took you to the ER. She drove like a bat out of hell and
>> I held you, compressing a towel against the cut. I don't remember you
>> crying, but you might have been. About forty years later I fell on my face
>> and had a cut right next to my eye. I still have my scar, how about you?
>> 
>> I was there when Dad brought you home one day and said you'd fallen out of
>> his truck when he was turning a corner. You were banged up, but just a
>> little, so we put bandaids on you because you demanded them. You lay on the
>> couch and demanded canned mushrooms to help you recover from the trauma. At
>> 4 maybe? Whatever you wanted, you got.
>> 
>> That was usually the way. You were the youngest, and you were, as far as I
>> can remember, the best child ever.
>> 
>> I watched you learn to swim, I let your instructor in and after your
>> lessons I'd give him a beer while he hit on me.
>> 
>> One time I tried carrying too much down the stairs at once, and of those
>> things was you. I tripped and fell the rest of the way, and all I could
>> think to do was hold tight to you and keep any part of you hitting the
>> floor at the bottom of the stairs. I landed on my knees, and your Mom was
>> right there, ready to kill me if you had as much as a scratch. But your
>> head was still against my chest , you were fine, and may have enjoyed the
>> ride.
>> 
>> My knees never recovered, not really, especially the right one. It's never
>> been the same, but it was a small price to pay to keep you safe.
>> 
>> We were careless with you in a way that isn't done anymore. You would ride
>> in the car standing on the passenger seat from the time you could stand.
>> One day we in the car with Mom, the boys in the back seat, you and me in
>> the front with Mom driving, you standing between us as usual. Maybe you
>> were 4? We pulled into the driveway and Mom, one foot in a cast,
>> accidentally accelerated instead of braked, and the car went right through
>> the garage door support between the garage doors. It all happened so fast,
>> and my left arm went out to keep you from hurtling through the windshield.
>> I'm sure Mom's right arm went out too, it's instinctual in moms to protect
>> their babies.
>> 
>> When I moved out at 18 you were five, and you were the one I missed and
>> cried about for so long after. No one else really cared that I left , but
>> the way you'd greet me when I came back to visit and want to be with me,
>> even wanting to sleep with me, told me that you missed me too.
>> 
>> I have always been proud of you, and even if you don't remember all the
>> fun and terrifying times we had together I always will, until I remember
>> nothing at all.
>> 
>> 
>> Monique
>> Sent from my iPad
> 
> -- 
> Laura
> wolfljsh at gmail.com