THE POWER OF SIBLINGS

“I don’t believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers. It makes them siblings, gives them mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at.” – Maya Angelou

The other day I e-mailed my brother to share an article that I thought he would like.  The article was well written and funny and it reminded me of my older brother.  He emailed me back to acknowledge the article and inquire how we were all doing.  He then said something so simple and I’m sure he has no idea just how much this simple line touched me.  He said “I enjoy reading your blog, it’s good and you are a much nicer person than me – I feel humbled – lol!”  Kevin has been reading my blog since I started and he’s always been supportive of my writing.  Growing up, Kevin was my senior brother by seven years and I didn’t always feel that he was supportive of me or my ambitions.  To be quite honest when I was a young girl and a teenager I quite often thought he was an asshole and I’m sure he thought the same of me.  We didn’t get along, I always felt he pushed his weight around and he was in my face which made me push back and at times it could be explosive!  I drove him crazy, I knew it and knowing that I drove him crazy only encouraged me to get under his skin some more.  I can be like that,  if I feel negativity coming my way I tend to face it straight on with my head high and get in negativity’s face no matter what the consequence.

After reading that line in his e-mail, I realized how far we’ve come.  Acknowledging my writing and complimenting me erupted within me a feeling of satisfaction and made my day.  I realized at that moment as a young girl growing up under the weight of my big brother that I was looking for his support and craving his acceptance.  Looking back at our up-bringing I realized that Kevin and I were destined to be in an explosive sibling rivalry by the very nature of our family dynamics.  Our parents split up and divorced when I was eight and Kevin was 15.  The divorce was nasty and full of tension and anger leaving the children to fend for themselves on an emotional level.  I look at my 15-year-old son right now and what he is going through in terms of growing pains, hormones and emotions and then I think of my brother watching our father walk out the door and the emotional toll it took on our mother and I realize now why Kevin was such an asshole.  By nature most 15-year-old boys are assholes as they are trying to find their way and become young men.  Kevin was expected to be the man of the house and take care of his younger sister and brother.  My younger brother was pretty quiet about everything but I could be uncooperative at times and a sassy, quick-talking little bitch.  I’m sure that’s what my brother wanted at 15, to be responsible for two children who didn’t really want to be a part of the whole mess either.

Kevin was a good hockey player and he was a smart cookie in school.  My father coached hockey and coached Kevin up to that point.  My father gave up coaching, Kevin quit hockey and picked up a different group of friends which led him away from school and into endeavours that put him on a different path, a path that was the opposite direction of his former life.  It’s not for me to express my brother’s feelings, but I’m sure he was angry and I think that anger came out in so many different forms.  I’ve always  been able to channel people’s feelings and emotions and I know now that I was reacting to his anger.  Every single one of  my siblings reacted differently to the trials of our parents’ divorce and every single one of us have different feelings and versions of events.  Difficult really, places brother against brother, sister against sister and brother against sister.  Divorce doesn’t have to be that way but it was that way for our family.

As I sit here this morning writing this post, I am 3000 miles on the opposite coast of my siblings and I miss them.  I miss our bonds no matter how unpredictable and temperamental we all can be.  The truth of the matter is when I get together with my siblings I feel like I’ve come home, truly come home and I can be myself as I react to the constant banter and wise cracking comments between us.  I love the nature of our relationships and I wouldn’t trade our up-bringing or past experiences because I believe these experiences have shaped us into who we are.  A couple of years ago, Kevin and my sister-in-law, Sandra, flew to the west coast to spend some time with my family.  It was such a good visit, we had a lot of fun and Kevin and I talked about old times.  It was during this visit that a light came on for me as I realized all of our past trials and fights happened because Kevin and I are more alike rather than opposites as I believed growing up.  I guess you can say Kevin and I finally came home, home to a place of mutual respect and acceptance and realized we are both assholes!

SINS OF THY FATHER!

I decided to dedicate this post to my father.  I never really talk about my father because some of the memories surrounding him are hurtful.  My  father died of a heart attack when I was 18 years old.  To say I miss him is an understatement, unfortunately, I have spent most of my life missing him.    Today I was at a memorial service for a young girl who passed away this past weekend.   As I watched her parents I wondered to myself “how do you say goodbye to your child?”  As happens quite often in times of death, we reminisce about our own lives or people we have lost.  My father crossed my mind today.

My parents were divorced when I was eight years old and I can still remember the day he walked out the door, I was devastated.  I absolutely adored my father and I couldn’t understand why he was leaving.  As I grew up I came to understand that my father had committed a cardinal sin, he had an affair with another woman.  My mother found out about this affair and my father broke up with the other woman and was determined to make it right with his family.  He couldn’t do it; he once told me that he loved this other woman so much and he couldn’t pretend at home anymore.  He started to see the other woman again and my mother gave him a choice – “me, the children or the door,” he chose the door.  My adoration for my father was replaced with utter confusion.  I still adored him and loved him very much, but everyone around me was furious with my father and it seemed like not one person liked him.  To voice my love for him felt wrong to me because it meant hurting my mother, so I remained silent.  Finally after much confusion my father was granted visiting rights  He could come and pick up my younger brother and I every Saturday from 8:00 am and we had to be home by 8:00 pm .  Not 8:10 pm, 8:30 pm or Sunday, every Saturday from 8 – 8 and there were no exceptions.  Looking back I know this was not enough time and I felt that way as a child.   There were two older siblings from the marriage and they could not be forced to visit him.

As I grew up life moved on and my mother, stepfather, younger brother and myself moved across the country.  My brother and I flew east to see Dad once a year for two weeks.  Not a lot of time when you think about it, but we always had a good visit.   As we neared toward the end of our visits, a great sadness always came over my father.  As we drove to the airport he would be very quiet in the car.  We would get to the checkout and gate for us to leave and it was here that I realized how much my father loved us.  When I hugged him to say goodbye it seemed like he held onto me forever and he would sob into my shoulder.  Then through his tears he would say “I love you more than you will ever know.”  I can remember thinking everyone is looking at us because this grown man is just sobbing his heart out – he didn’t care he wanted us to know how much he loved us.  This is why my father came to mind today – he couldn’t bear to say goodbye to his children.  Every time we left that airport to fly home for another year, a part of him died.

My father wanted to be happy but couldn’t because he was torn about his children.  Right or wrong he was a father, a father who loved his children more than they knew.  Now as I look at my own children I can only imagine his pain driving home from that  airport and knowing he wouldn’t see his flesh and blood for another year and this daughter loves her father more than he ever knew!

Mom and dad before any of us!

I’m the little one holding my mother’s hand and staring at my Father.

First picture – my older brother and sister with my dad at Christmas – a year before I was born!