I have a brother who...
...is an asshole. Actually I have 2, but today I'm discussing the one who broke my nose when I was in a sleeping bag and couldn't fight back.
I was chatting with someone who remembered some of my brothers antics, but most of them were simply signs of cowardice. He hid in the bathroom when the photographer came to take the annual picture of our growing family. He screamed, kicked and eventually was dragged in front of the camera so now we have pictures of his snotty, red, swollen face and the rest of the clan.
He also was terrified of barbers and cried throughout every haircut and he shrunk his boy ass down so that his head came nowhere near the signs that told you how tall you must be to "ride this ride" at local amusement parks.
Even though my mother's dying wish was for her children to take care of each other, a couple of my siblings took her cash and ran, never thinking about what she wanted.
Now they're ignoring my 80 year old father. He wasn't perfect (who is?) but neither was my mother. I love her and miss her something awful but I never refuse to look at the truth. And, the simple truth is, my parents, like the rest of us, did the best they could on any given days with the tools they had on that day. They meant well, slipping sometimes but none of us were buried in the crawlspace so I think it could have been much worse.
I say this not to bitch at my chicken shit brother for ignoring our father on Father's Day and hanging up on me when I called to invite him to my father's 80th birthday. It's more about me and my kids.
Last month, on May 23rd, I had a heart attack. I stayed in cardiac care until the following Tuesday when they took me to a floor. But within 2 hours of that move, I went into respiratory failure and almost died for the second time in 5 days. I went back to CCU and spent some time up there before going back to the floor. While I was in between near death experiences, I spoke to all of my kids.
I was diagnosed with Broken Heart Syndrome ( it sounds more ominous in Japanese which is the language used to identify it, but I can't remember how to spell it.) Anyway, it boils down to Broken Heart Syndrome and I have it. It was bad enough to actually cause a heart attack with damage to my heart muscle, but this too shall pass.
The point is, I may be much younger than my father, but seriously, how many more special days are there left for me? My father certainly has less...maybe not, but he hopes so as he does not want to bury any of his children.
I still have the Broken Heart thing and literally, a broken heart. The only thing that could break my heart more is if I couldn't have a relationship of some sort with my children and my favorite humans ever, my grandchildren. I assure you...I would not be here if it were not for them. (By the way, I have another grandbaby coming!)
When I think of my broken heart, I have to wonder what it does to my father when the boys he shuttled to sporting events and paid college tuition for, have totally erased him from their lives. A phone call from one of them would not only show that they have a touch of class, it would let them grow older proud that they didn't give in to the negativity life tries to suffocate us with.
My father's heart may or may not be broken, but with so few Father's Day's left, does it matter? One 5 minute phone call would spurt so much good karma into the world and the lack of the call does nothing but create pain at worst and negativity at best.
One of my brothers married a rather stout selfish woman who never wanted to give my brother kids. I always resented her for that. My other brother never married anyone young enough to have any eggs left so he avoided parenthood altogether.
When the karma they send out every day comes to bite them in the ass, they will be truly alone in this world.
Just remember this, forgiveness is for the person who forgives, not for the one who has been forgiven. Until you forgive another person, you will never benefit from that scenario.
BTW...To my kids, call me soon please! Preferably with grandchildren around but I'd like to chat with you. Skype if you can, you might have to call me to get me to the computer!
Love you!.
I was chatting with someone who remembered some of my brothers antics, but most of them were simply signs of cowardice. He hid in the bathroom when the photographer came to take the annual picture of our growing family. He screamed, kicked and eventually was dragged in front of the camera so now we have pictures of his snotty, red, swollen face and the rest of the clan.
He also was terrified of barbers and cried throughout every haircut and he shrunk his boy ass down so that his head came nowhere near the signs that told you how tall you must be to "ride this ride" at local amusement parks.
Even though my mother's dying wish was for her children to take care of each other, a couple of my siblings took her cash and ran, never thinking about what she wanted.
Now they're ignoring my 80 year old father. He wasn't perfect (who is?) but neither was my mother. I love her and miss her something awful but I never refuse to look at the truth. And, the simple truth is, my parents, like the rest of us, did the best they could on any given days with the tools they had on that day. They meant well, slipping sometimes but none of us were buried in the crawlspace so I think it could have been much worse.
I say this not to bitch at my chicken shit brother for ignoring our father on Father's Day and hanging up on me when I called to invite him to my father's 80th birthday. It's more about me and my kids.
Last month, on May 23rd, I had a heart attack. I stayed in cardiac care until the following Tuesday when they took me to a floor. But within 2 hours of that move, I went into respiratory failure and almost died for the second time in 5 days. I went back to CCU and spent some time up there before going back to the floor. While I was in between near death experiences, I spoke to all of my kids.
I was diagnosed with Broken Heart Syndrome ( it sounds more ominous in Japanese which is the language used to identify it, but I can't remember how to spell it.) Anyway, it boils down to Broken Heart Syndrome and I have it. It was bad enough to actually cause a heart attack with damage to my heart muscle, but this too shall pass.
The point is, I may be much younger than my father, but seriously, how many more special days are there left for me? My father certainly has less...maybe not, but he hopes so as he does not want to bury any of his children.
I still have the Broken Heart thing and literally, a broken heart. The only thing that could break my heart more is if I couldn't have a relationship of some sort with my children and my favorite humans ever, my grandchildren. I assure you...I would not be here if it were not for them. (By the way, I have another grandbaby coming!)
When I think of my broken heart, I have to wonder what it does to my father when the boys he shuttled to sporting events and paid college tuition for, have totally erased him from their lives. A phone call from one of them would not only show that they have a touch of class, it would let them grow older proud that they didn't give in to the negativity life tries to suffocate us with.
My father's heart may or may not be broken, but with so few Father's Day's left, does it matter? One 5 minute phone call would spurt so much good karma into the world and the lack of the call does nothing but create pain at worst and negativity at best.
One of my brothers married a rather stout selfish woman who never wanted to give my brother kids. I always resented her for that. My other brother never married anyone young enough to have any eggs left so he avoided parenthood altogether.
When the karma they send out every day comes to bite them in the ass, they will be truly alone in this world.
Just remember this, forgiveness is for the person who forgives, not for the one who has been forgiven. Until you forgive another person, you will never benefit from that scenario.
BTW...To my kids, call me soon please! Preferably with grandchildren around but I'd like to chat with you. Skype if you can, you might have to call me to get me to the computer!
Love you!.
posted by Meg Kelso | 4:25 AM
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