“Fidelity to any human place, except the heart, seems dubious to me.” Desert of the Heart, Jane Rule.
This is a photo of my brother. We talked this week, and things are not going too well for him right now. Hard Times, the economy. He lost his job. My sister lost her job over a year ago. Hard times.
Barry has worked hard all his life. He drives heavy machines. He has raised a family, bought a house, lost it, been strong, and somehow, retained a sensitive heart. He feels things deeply. I am like him in that.
He can’t understand the loss of family, nor can I. We talked about that, about how we assumed that family would always be there for us, no matter what, to help out when they can, to listen, to support.
He cried a little, and I cried a little, and I did what I could.
My brother is a strong man with a simple understanding of love. I am like him in that.
He loves deeply, and gets hurt easily. I am like him in that way too.
He is quick to anger, but repents and forgives. I am like him in that.
We both miss our mother, and wish she were still here to demand that this family pull together.
My brother can’t understand why one son is willing to help his parents when they need help, and one son is not.
Barry tries to retreat into a shell, and say that he only depends on himself and his wife, and doesn’t want or expect anyone else to care. I say the same, but neither of us mean it.
Barry and I both believed that our family would grow closer after the loss of our mother, and we are both immeasurably damaged because they didn’t.
My little brother and I both believe in the fidelity of the human heart.