TheBanyanTree: To my brother

[Teague, Julie Anna]

I love this. 

> 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