Little Brother has a lot to say lately. As in constant chatter. If he isn’t asking me how to spell some made up word like “Rahtso Motso Hoola Loo” then he wants to take turns singing lines of “Three Little Birds” (“Three Little Birds, Beside My Dorset”). I’m delighted, and not the least bit surprised, that our second son is ridiculously verbal but sometimes…man. I really wish he came with an “off” switch.
Is that all?!
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Big Brother turned 7 in December and, for the most part, became a completely new kid. It’s amazing. Suddenly, he gets it (most of the time). Much more helpful, much better at managing his little brother, much more attentive in school, just so much more kind and (gulp) grown-up acting. Consequently, I adore him and can’t get enough hugging and kissing. Seven’s good. Maybe we can freeze this stage for a bit?
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My parents and I have been going through a lot regarding my Mother’s health over the last few months, which I’m sure has contributed to the blank pages in my blog. It feels like I should be blogging about it. Talking it over with friends. Sharing my fears. Sharing my anger. But, I’m not doing any of that. Husband has been very supportive and my mother-in-law drops anything and drives from CT to stay with the kids when I need to be with my parents. My Mom has a few wonderful friends in VT who I know would do anything for her (or my Dad) at the drop of a dime. Here at home, I’m surrounded by people willing to help, willing to talk, willing to listen. It’s wonderful. The thing is, despite all those people and all that love, I’m alone in this one. At the base of it all, I know I’m alone.
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Big Brother and Little Brother got into an argument a few days ago over a toy. Whining turned to yelling turned to grabbing turned to rolling around on the floor together like scrappy teenagers in a playground brawl. I grabbed each of them by the arm and sent them to their rooms. After a few minutes, I joined Big Brother in his room and sat down on his bed.
“When I was your age, do you know what I wanted more than anything?” I asked.
“No.”
“I wanted a brother or a sister. Someone to play with. Someone who would always have my back, always be my friend. Forever. You have that, buddy. You guys are so lucky to have each other.”
“I know. Mommy?”
“Yeah, bud.”
“Why are you crying?”
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Confessions of a Serial Swooper 
I’ve missed your posts. Wish I could do something to help you get through this. All I can say is that I’m here, along with your village of supporters 🙂
Oh man! I get this 1 million percent. Every little bit of it. I only shared a small fraction of my parents’ illnesses and deaths on my blog. It’s really THE ONLY place I share it. I do not talk about it. I have friends ready and willing to help/listen just like you describe, but I can’t go there. I have to do it alone. Just as you wrote. Scary how this hits so close to home.
Just know that it’s OK. Share what you’re comfortable with. When you’re comfortable with it. It’s all you can do. And it’s OK.
Big Ginormous Hugs!!!
Combining the two stories makes them ring so true. When we’re worried, scared, sad, it spills over into every other part of our lives. I’m sending you hugs, dear blogging friend. I’ve been there, too, but it’s so personal for every one of us. You’re right. No matter how many people are there to support you, ultimately you must go through it alone. Glad to be in touch again.
glad you’re blogging again. you never fail to bring tears to me. thanks and love you!