A trying relationship, and why I'm in it

A couple weeks ago, I was talking with my oldest daughter, a young woman now, whose insights and direct approach I value and respect. Our topic this time was one I periodically bring up...how my older brother upsets me. Typically, I'll call him, get upset to some degree, not say anything to him about my feelings, then vent, vent, vent. My daughter on this occasion said with a bit of exasperation, "I don't know why you let him get to you, why you worry so much about it!"

And so I started thinking about this, not really for the first time but more in depth. The easy answer I've had is, "He's my brother; I love him". A little deeper, and I'll say, "He's helped me out over the years, when I've needed support the most he's been there".

Maybe some other time I'll talk about why I don't speak up with him, it's really a different subject having to do with how I try to support and respect people in general. For now, there's just a little background I'd like to share.

I'll call my brother Thomas for more ease in telling this story. Thomas is 8 years older than me. I have as much a role in creating the dynamics of our relationship as does he. Basically, Thomas has assumed a role of "Wise One", and I...well, not so much. At best, I'm a "student", and not a particularly gifted one at that. I tend not to voice my opinions with him these days, because quite simply they will not be valued, will not influence him even a little, and may be met with a bit of ridicule, which I prefer to avoid whenever possible. A recent example...I had brought something up which I thought was kind of funny. In the course of telling him about it, I mentioned that I like rules. He nodded thoughtfully and said, "Insecure people like rules because they make them feel safe: You are a very insecure person." I said, "Okay" and tried to go on with my story, which involved telling him why I thought a particular safety rule was in place at a local state park. About 20 seconds into my opinion, with a good dose of impatience, Thomas shook his head and said, rapid-fire style, "Stop stop stop stop stop!" Five stops for me and my silly thoughts. Of course he went on and told me the REAL reason for the safety rule, and that it had nothing to do with anything I thought it had to do with.

Well, now I DO need to stop, because just retelling that simple example gets me upset again and brings to mind a string of similar interactions with Thomas. This, though, isn't about that, but rather why I value our relationship, what I see when I think of him.

In thinking this through while talking with my daughter, I flashed back to my earliest memory of interacting with Thomas. Remember, he is 8 yrs. older, so as kids we were in the same house, but just didn't have much to talk about or do together. What we did share was a small home with 8 of us kids, a stay-at-home mom, and a dad whose work kept him away for weeks at a time.

Our mom could be cruel, prone to rages that were expressed mostly through screaming, not infrequently through hitting us with hairbrushes and slippers. When neither of those items were handy, a stinging slap in the mouth would have to do. Once she chased another, particularly rebellious, brother through the house with a broom. Much to my horrified delight, he turned on her and suggested, "Why don't you get on that broom and fly away, you old witch!" My now-pagan sister may take exception with that phrase, but still it makes me laugh.

One day, when I was 12, my mother was putting away groceries. I must've been underfoot, really can't recall, but in any event, I remember she turned her hateful anger on me. Her exact words don't come back to me either, but I clearly remember how I felt: I was filled with the certainty that my mother would be happier if I were gone. This knowledge was like a punch in the gut, she might as well have hit me that day; it hurt so deeply. So, I simply left.

With no plan, no money, no food, and no destination, I started walking. I cried nonstop. The small city we lived in ran into the next city, and still I kept walking. After several miles, the road I was on led to undeveloped, more rural landscape. Along the way, there was one lone restaurant. I trekked diagonally toward it, which led me through some deceptively wet mud. My shoes sunk in a bit. I needed to use the bathroom. Teary eyed, I went in and tracked mud through the dining area. I vaguely can picture a few customers looking at me with startled expressions, but no one stopped me or said a word.

Well, I walked back to the road and just stopped. What was I doing??? It made no sense to go on, but going home and being unwanted felt just as impossible. Still, I turned back north, toward the familiar...not consciously admitting that I would return. Tears still ran off and on, and my legs had begun to ache, but I did not stop.

When I had just crossed back into my own home town, a familiar car pulled up alongside me and stopped. Thomas reached over and opened the passenger door. Defeated and worn out, I climbed in. He didn't ask what happened, just opened his arms. Grateful, I collapsed against him and sobbed quietly. After a moment, Thomas gently said, "Don't let her do this to you." He took me home, but with a profound change...I didn't feel so alone.

This is my brother, and these are the eyes I will always see him through. He has through the years helped me in other ways, at key moments when his capacity for great caring, quiet kindness, and sometimes practical, concrete action has been needed most.