When my brother Mac called this morning, he was in his typical high-gear do-it-now mode: "Meet William and me over at Mama's in fifteen minutes. We've got to do something with that house before it falls down." In the year and a half since Mama's been gone, we have tried and tried to bring things to a conclusion, but we haven't quite been able to pull the plug and clear everything out. Not much is left but memories, but they're the hardest to let go.William and I are sentimental. If it was left up to us, we would probably not have things resolved ten years from now, and Mac has been like a border collie, trying in vain to herd us into a decision. Mac tries to act like such a tough guy, but underneath that veneer lies the softest of hearts.
Maybe it's because we three are so close in age (only twenty months separate each of us); maybe it's because we slept in the same room until I was seven years old (we giggled and sang and told each other stories until we fell asleep every night); maybe it's the shared history and the shared memories and the shared gene pool: for whatever reason, there's a closeness, a bond, an affectionate understanding between us that is constant. I was looking at them today, a couple of nice men in their fifties, and thinking of how I'll always see them as my precious baby brothers.
1 comment:
Looking at those pictures, one can truly see how much Mac's children and grandchildren look like him as a child. Awesome.
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