Complicated relationships

I always wanted a relationship with my brother when I became an adult. As kids we were siblings, and in my memories, we fought all the time, coming together only when we needed to form a united front against our parents. We played together, but as we moved into our teens we went separate ways in activities. Golf for him. Swimming for me. The two only met when he came up on the tee that sat down the hill from the pool I ran. He was always busy with work, golf, and his girlfriend. He had no interest in being more than what he was with me, but I always craved more.

Him: "Like what? Holding hands and skipping down the street?"

He was smarter than I. He got away. He left home for college and formed his own life away from parental guidance and drama. I didn't. I stayed because I knew my parents needed me. Without a mediator they were likely to kill each other and then what? I went to the local college and lived at home. I regret that decision now, but at the time it was what was expected, although not truly spoken aloud. Once he left any hope of a relationship went with him as he began gathering a new persona and making a new family.

We've always had moments. After his daughter died he use to send me emails in the early morning pouring out his feelings. We never talked about it aloud, just the emails. Once when he was visiting we went off together in a car, and in a conversation we had he told me he would always take care of me if I needed him. Dealing with our mother's illness through the years, there were moments he would send a text encouraging me and he was always there when I called for help. But that relationship I so wanted? Not there.

When my Aunt died earlier this year I got up and spoke at her funeral reading something I had written. When we got into the car to drive to the cemetery he told me he knew I could write, but that he had no idea I could speak. I was stunned and hurt. At least my sister, who I had not grown up with and who really doesn't know me all that well, had looked at him during my speech and said, "Well we know where that comes from." I could not believe that he had never heard me make speeches before. My dad taught me how to speak to a group of people long before he educated my brother. He started out by teaching me how to sell anything and it evolved from there. I was the one who sold the geraniums my brother had to sell for his baseball team every year. How could he not remember that? It haunted me for weeks. I've always been able to stand up and speak. I hosted our swim team banquet every year. I made so many speeches in front of civic organizations after being awarded Employee of the Year for the city I worked for that I can still recite the speech I wrote. I hosted a retirement party and roast for the girls' preschool and kindergarten teacher. But as I went through all of that I realized that he was never at any of those events. How would he ever know what I was capable of? It made me sad.

Several weeks later we were together again sitting at our mother's bedside for four days. It was an experience that will always bind us together whether we want it to or not. During one of those days my brother started speaking, pouring out all sorts of things about his life and his feelings, aloud to our aunt who is very good at getting you to do things like that. I sat in a corner and just listened. He spoke of a person that I had never seen, never knew existed. I hadn't know of the things he had accomplished in his life, of the things he was capable of, of the man he had become, and I realized that I didn't really know my brother any more than he knew me. We were that disconnected. It made me even more sad, but I had some hope that maybe this shared experience would change that. Because we have the ability to make changes.

Then my brother left after the memorial service. We have spoken twice by telephone, both times to discuss the estate I'm in charge of settling. I sit alone to go through the mass amount of "goodies" my mother left behind. I feel a responsibility to be the protector, the caregiver. I felt that during her dying, a need to protect my baby brother from what was coming, to make sure he was okay and getting enough to eat. I feel that now as I read journals left behind, sift through emails, and read letters that she kept. And then as I delved further into things I realized that she too had that kind of a relationship with her own sibling. That need to have more, but not knowing how or not having the willingness to not be judgmental. I'm not for sure, but I think her mother had the same issue with her sister and brother. And so I sit and think about that. A family that could not be more to one another then what was. Each sibling feeling a responsibility; one to stay and one to go. Each time the eldest being the one left behind feeling a sense of abandonment and resentment, but secretly proud of the youngest who got away to make his life his own. But then how sad that neither really knew or knows the other.

I still hope for a chance. I'm lucky I still have that chance; to have a relationship beyond the superficial. But I also know that it won't be easy or be reciprocated. Perhaps it can't be. Family dynamics are hard things to break down, but having this experience has made me look at my own children's relationship and my nephew and niece's. Even now I can see that my oldest daughter is the caregiver, wanting to make everything right within the family while the youngest one, although she cares, doesn't think it her responsibility unless asked. Perhaps it age thing, but I'm hoping that they can all break the cycle; to go on with their lives, but also remain close enough to share in each other's lives, to have a relationship. Then maybe I won't be so sad.