Little Brother

I just hope you could know.

Some girls probably know what it’s like to have a little brother. They spit, and their eyes wax often when they abash in ripped hand- me- downs. Little brother reptile shirts drip easy sweat with popsicle stains.

One day they get bigger than you. They show off strong like they’ve newly something to prove. Some big sisters might know that your little brother will still look out for you.

They pull you off the dance floor for drinking too much, grinding too close to their friend Emanuel. He didn’t much care for that guy. They take the blame when your parents smell smoke. Dad made him smoke the whole pack but, he’d never snitch on his big sis.

Most would probably know the blessing of a brother. It’s really just love and tears but, it makes all the difference when you have someone to relate to. You can see yourself as a boy. You can stretch out and feel like a girl and there is no raw intention lingering in his sights. He is just a boy and you know him better than most. I love you dear brother and I always will.

You might know I always felt jealous. I couldn’t be what you were. You got all the attention. You might know I wasn’t always in the right, and I want you to know that I’m sorry for being a bitch on more than one occasion. My angst steeped deeper than antique roots and no apology could possibly filter my sorrow.

You might not know that I found your dead body on March 3rd, 2017.

Some might not know that type one diabetes effects millions of us, loved siblings, little brothers. Drug use can numb your anxiety and make that apartment seem safe, like the diabetes won’t really matter.

People might not know what happens to a sister when you see stiff hands of your little brother, contorted, you flash back to pillow forts when you played the princess. But he really didn’t care, cause he was just happy to build a fort and there was no complaining. I seek company in words when I can.

You might not know that I spoke words I could have parted and waved passed at your funeral. My black shoes didn’t fit and a blister kept throbbing, it made me grateful for the drinking water, I fixated on what your presence was doing to me.

You might not know that I live with guilt, it grows inside of me bigger every day, I ran away as far as I could, but it found me standing next the great wall and I felt as if I could fly, but I was ashamed my daughter would see such thoughts.

You might not know that I named my daughter after you and she has your spirit, and I put my money on your sense of humor, but I would color it a different shade if it woke up early enough to feel better about belonging to the gnarled grips of grief.

You might not know that I miss you more than one can imagine. Those arguments seemed larger than life and now they float right along the demeanor I may have tightly held onto like a faded memory where only the shadows are clear enough to make sense. It wasn’t really about the leftovers. I felt you were always taking. But, now I just want you know that I would give you every last piece for the rest of my life until I had nothing left to give, just to see you again. I’d live forever in a house made of guilt and raise blessed silver until it meant your folded warmth edge forgiveness.

I just hope you could know.