Its been 2 months and a day since my Brothers physical presence exited. Some days it feels like yesterday and other days it feels a lifetime ago. I have spent time returning to my deliberate life. I take care of our Mama, I work in the Emergency Department at a local hospital, I am a Wife, Mother and Grandmother. All those things are good for me. They are my purpose. But I have a promise I made, not yet kept. To my only Brother. I promised to take him home.
This promise is important. I want to do it and I will. I have the plans made. I have a departure date. I'm going. My problem is, historically, I'm a runner. When life overwhelms me, I run. Its usually post crisis and really has never served me well. I have certainly learned as an adult to control this. I've had a successful career. Raised a house full of kids, not all I gave birth to and have a long committed relationship to my Husband. Who knew at this point in my life, the urge to run would come back in full force?
As I've struggled daily to keep myself in check, I've dreamed of my Brother's bubble. His life in the desert where he felt safe and accepted. A recent browse through his possessions, I came across his dissertation. Written on a Commodore 64, completed in 1987. Above is his acknowledgement. The people specifically mentioned, he valued so intensely. One even visited him in our home in his last days. It was extremely meaningful to him. Its that last sentence that caught my eye. His friends. Those people who taught my brilliant brother that there was more than the laboratory. Those friends that taught him it was ok to run. And run, he did. I'm grateful to them for what they taught him. It was a life fulfilled.
So I've put my gypsy soul in order. I will run, the end of May. I will fulfill my promise. I will take my Brother home. I will return to my own bubble where I know, there is nothing to run from.
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