Thirty Fifth

My brother has been feeing poorly for some time.  He has been to the doctor, specialists, whatever-ologists and done all they asked.

Four weeks ago he collapsed.  And spent two and a half weeks in the hospital, and was sent home to recover from the hospital, and went back in today to have a biopsy.

Cancer, of course.  Don't know what kind yet, but cancer nonetheless. Cancer that has been growing undetected for at least a few years.  Undetected partly because doctors do not listen when clients tell them that they don't "feel right".  "You're fine", they say after any given test.  "You're fine."  No need to look at the whole picture, listen to the client and keep probing.

I expect to hear bad news about my really old parents.  I don't expect it about my brothers.  My big brothers are invincible.  They can do anything.  I mean that sincerely, because it's true.

Goddammit.  Goddammit.

Thirty Fourth

“Do you hear me?  I feel like when I speak it’s as if it's wind just moving through the air to you.”

This declaration slays me.  He knows just what to say to make me feel like I am nothing, like I am the worst person in the world.  All our lives he has been accusing me of not listening, not hearing, interrupting, being judgmental.

I don’t have the distance to judge the truth of these accusations.  No one else has ever told me any of this.  I have a need to know if it is true, although it is true for him so I suppose the truth of it doesn’t matter.

“Yes, I hear you now.” I say, my head lowered and unable to make eye contact.  I am ashamed, which was his intention all along.

“I don’t think you do,” he repeats, gathering up his wallet and coat, “I don’t think you are capable of hearing me.”  Perhaps this is true, perhaps this is the one person I cannot listen to anymore.  Or perhaps I am only hearing what he is not saying.

The door clicks behind him as he leaves.  The cat immediately comes out from under her chair and circles my feet.

Thirty Third

(From the writing prompt: "My work is…")

My work is to shield myself from the world, and to shield the world from me. 

To avoid movies, books and songs that make me sad or angry.

My work is to keep one safe place for my daughter to exist, free from  the world's cruelty.  To say, when she came home last week with buzz cut hair done by a friend who clearly lacks the skill to wield clippers, “Look how cute you are!” as she anxiously presented herself to me. 

My work is to learn to comfortably say “I love you” to my brother, even though that is not a thing we do, because I need to say it without regard to whether or not he wants to hear it.  I will listen to his wife when she tells me that he will beat this thing, because he promised her that he would, and “he always keeps his promises.”  I will keep reality off my face and I will agree with her, because her need to believe is stronger than my need to be right. 

My work is to keep the friends who I like close and informed, even when that is uncomfortable, and drift away from the friends I have gathered who cannot listen to me.

My work is to listen better, and talk less.  To ask questions and seek to put myself inside another mind, just to see if I can imagine what it really feels like in there, even if I am sure to be wrong.