Memories

I am four or five years old. The purple light of an early winter evening filters through the half windows of the unfinished basement in my parents' century old house, muting the hues of the multi-colored tiles on the floor and tinting the white painted brick walls with a tinge of blue . It smells of sawdust, newspaper, and damp. Up the stairs, I can hear the clatter and thump of my mother preparing dinner in the kitchen. I am crying. My brothers and I have been playing an indoor version of basketball in the low-ceilinged basement and I have been hit. My motor skills are not as well-developed as those of my older brothers. There is no actual basket so I have thrown the basketball up at the spot on the beam that has been designated the basket and it has bounced back and hit me on the bridge of my nose. I am surprised by the hit. And then I am angry and embarrassed. Then comes the pain. I am certain that my nose is bleeding. My brother Todd runs after the errant ball. My brother Jon comes over to check on me. He reassures me that my nose is not bleeding. Then he starts to say silly things. Suddenly I am trying hard to maintain my anger and tears. He continues to say things to try and make me laugh. He is successful. Tears are still sliding down my cheeks, but now I am giggling and feeling better. Todd hands me the ball and I try again.

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I am twelve. I am in my bed, aching and feverish with yet another bout of strep throat. My throat feels like jagged pieces of glass have been embedded in it and swallowing is agony. Jon comes in. He has just come home from his job at Baskin-Robbins. He hands me a milkshake. It's mint chocolate chip, my favorite flavor. I take a sip and enjoy the taste and relax as the shake slides down my throat, cooling the rawness.

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I am eighteen. I am in the front hall of the house. I am holding a long, white, rectangular box. As I slide the top off, a sweet and earthy scent escapes. Inside are a dozen yellow roses accompanied by a note telling me to "break a leg" in the play that night. The flowers are from my brother who is living in Texas, attending graduate school. I am delighted and touched by this, knowing that he is thinking of me and that he has spent money out of his very small budget to send me flowers.

The flowers sit in a vase on the piano in the front hall. They sit there even after their beauty and fragrance has faded, because I can't bring myself to throw them away.

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I am twenty-three. I am standing in the narthex of the church I have attended my whole life. I am wearing my wedding gown. I am excited and happy. My brother, wearing a gray suit and a ponytail, approaches me. He gives me a hug and tells me he is proud of me and that he loves me. I am incandescent.

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I am thirty-one. I am sitting on the green and maroon striped couch in the family room of my own home. My three and a half year old daughter and my 16 month old son are playing on the floor. I am wishing I was anywhere but here. I am at the edge of tears. I can't assemble my thoughts. I am feeling guilty because I am watching the children that I love, but wishing for the son I lost. The phone rings and it's my brother Jon. He is calling to find out how I am doing. I lie and tell him I'm doing okay. He tells me he wishes he could be with me. I start to cry. We talk some more and he tells me silly things. Tears are still sliding down my cheeks, but now I am giggling. He tells me he loves me and the phone call ends. The hole in my heart is still raw and ragged, but somehow a little less injured for having shared the pain.

I leave my children in the care of their grandmother and go to my room. I lay down and sleep for hours.

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I am forty-three. I am in a room pulsing with music and crowded with people. I am at the class reunion for my brother and husband's class. I am talking with people I knew and looked up to when I was younger. I feel weird. It is unsettling to be on level ground with people who knew me as "Jon's younger sister." I look across the room and see my husband throwing his head back in laughter. I grin. As I glance around the room, I see the photo booth that has been set up. I walk over to the small circle of people where my brother is. I grab him by the wrist and yell in his ear. He nods and smiles. We walk over to the photo booth and part the curtain. I grab a pink feather boa and a cowboy hat. We take turns wearing them and mugging for the camera. We are laughing.  The camera stops flashing and we wait for our prints. We shake our heads and chuckle at the ridiculous poses we have been caught in. He kisses my cheek and heads off to talk with his friends.

When I get home, I put the photo strip on my refrigerator. I smile every time I glance at it.

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I am forty-five. I have been in airports and on planes since 8:45 a.m. It is 6:40 p.m. as I shoulder my camera bag and guide my wheeled bag onto the escalator. As I head down, I glance to the baggage claim where my sister-in-law said they'd be waiting. I see him, sitting on the floor, looking at his phone. He doesn't know who he is at the airport to meet. He isn't aware of my presence. I weave my way through the crowds gathered at the baggage carousel and I say his name: "Jon!" He looks up and glances my way. I see the surprise flash across his face and then as he strides toward me, his face breaks into a grin. "Happy birthday!" I say. We hug, separate, and then hug again. As we walk toward the parking garage, we are talking and laughing. I climb into the car and I can't stop smiling.

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He has memories of a time in his life without me. He remembers when it was just he and my brother. But this is exactly the opposite of what I remember. I cannot remember a time in my life when he and my brother were not there. Like my parents, they have just always been. And even though he lives a thousand miles away and we only see each other once a year, he has a permanence and a weight in my life. His presence has been imprinted on me and influenced me in ways that he can't imagine. I have been so very lucky to have him as an older brother and friend. I hope his next 50 years are abundant with blessings and joy.