For his birthday, my mom posted a whole bunch of pics of him on facebook. Lots of old pictures, from when he was a kid. I'm even in some of them! One of my favorites is us on Halloween, when I was maybe 8 (?). I was a hippie of some sorts, and he was a slice of pizza. I vividly remember that Halloween, walking around the small town where our grandma lives. It was cold, and he was shaped like a piece of pizza, and the wind kept blowing it around. Isn't it funny, how even now, I can remember knowing I needed to make sure he was ok? But he was sure a cute little sucker back in the day. And I can really see how my niece is a little tiny version of him sometimes.
Just for shits & giggles:
|The Hippie and the Pizza|
And you know what? All of this has made homesick like crazy. Insanely homesick. It's probably no coincidence that today was filled with comfort foods in no small quantity. I didn't think about it when we were eating, but um, yeah. Jeez. I thought I had a better handle on this than I do, apparently. I'm going to really need to find a way to stay in the moment this coming weekend when I'm home, and surrounded by food, family, and good times. It all kind of blurs together for me, and I suspect that is one of the reasons that I find such comfort in food when I'm homesick.
Today has been the opposite of calm and mindful. My head has been all over the place, loudly alerting me to the fact that all is not well inside. I'm very grateful that I'm going home next weekend because I need to see my family.
Also on my mind has been the impending one year anniversary of my brother nearly dying. It feels as fresh right now as it did then. I feel gripped with fear at the thought of losing him, and watching his family hurt. I want to put him in bubble wrap and make him sit still and be safe. I'm sure he would be mortified to hear how much I worry about this, and obsess over it. But I can't seem to knock the thoughts out of my head. He would tell me, in his "I'm an Army drill sergeant" way that he's "fine". Which is code for "stop worrying about me." Ah, if only.
Last year, we were headed home for Memorial Day weekend to go to my cousin's wedding. About an hour from home, literally in the middle of the night, my mom finally got thru to me (the cell service in western kansas BLOWS) to tell me my brother had collapsed at a concert. No one really knew what the status was. Alive? Dead? Brain damage? That began the most horrible scary emotional stressed 48 hours of my life. I didn't sleep or eat in that time. I'm so fucking grateful that he's still alive, and is ok. As we head home this Friday, I'm thankful that we are doing it at a different time of day, and that when we get to mom's house, my brother and his family will be arriving there shortly after us. I'm hopeful that this year Memorial weekend will be a happy time. We'll all be in one place, and quite frankly, my brother will be damn lucky if any of us let him out of our sight long enough to pee. I'm going to make him run and workout with me, not because he needs it or anything, but because I want someone to be watching him when he does it. I'll even humor my mom and carry my cell phone when we go for a run, just in case.
I literally feel trapped by the worry sometimes. I know it isn't useful. It's energy spent on something I can't control or do anything, ANYTHING, about. It doesn't feel good. Fear is a crazy cruel bitch, and I'd like to stab her straight thru the heart so she'll knock it the f*ck off. I want to exorcise her from my head.
Tomorrow is a new day, one I hope to fill with things to occupy my mind and hands. I have multiple bags to complete, and I have a good hard workout planned with my neighbor. All of this will, hopefully, contribute to a more mindful and peaceful day.