My Big, Strong Brother

My big, strong brother woke me and his wife up this morning. 6 a.m. Florida time or as my body clock reminds me every time I fly to the East Coast, 3 a.m., but after two days gallivanting around the Magic Kingdom and Epcot from opening to closing time, it feels like I’ve had barely any sleep at all. 

All is good with me, thanks for caring, I’m having lots of fun in the Orange State’s humidity and mid-90s temps, enjoying Disney’s expansive World for the first time with my sister, brother, cousin, sister-in-law and her brother. My favorite things so far have been two of the most inspiring fireworks shows I’ve ever seen—yes, I got teary-eyed—and Tron, a speedy, exhilarating  motorcycle ride my sister and I rode three times and it still wasn’t enough! 

I’m in Florida, a state I vowed I’d never financially contribute to due to the current governor’s abhorrent mandates, because my brother invited us to share his three-room vacation rental. Being here, I admittedly sold my soul and reversed my boo-Sunshine State stance because it’s a rare opportunity to be with kin and, well, time is short. 

Florida, by the way, has been terrific, people-wise. We have yet to meet someone who isn’t kind and especially helpful. Yesterday, on our way out of Epcot, a very tanned older woman who had a Today’s My Birthday button, just like me, even volunteered when told where we lived, “I love California!” Not a lot of that sentiment going on these days. Politics can really get in the way and pollute our perception of each other. 

Which brings me back to my brother. 

This morning I bolted up to horrific cries of help from our adjoining suite. My brother sounded like an injured animal maimed and lying for dead on the side of the road. As the rest of the family slept, his wife and I ran to his aide. He had fallen in the bathroom and was trapped between the toilet and the wall. He’s had many falls like this and as a result spends most of the time in a wheelchair. My big, strong brother. Trapped. Helpless. His face frightened like a sunken-eyed bleached ghost. 

It took a while, but eventually we were able to get him up and back into the wheelchair where he hunched over in agony as a FOX News anchor droned on about Biden’s many flaws and Trump’s exceptional attributes. 

My brother exclusively watches conservative TV “news”. His rigid opinion about most everything political caused a lifelong Grand Canyon-sized gap between us. Throughout my life, he’s the one who’s been “right” while everyone else is a liberal dope. There was never a grey in-between. But in the end, it doesn’t matter, none of it. Politics, the past, assets, the next vacation, global warming, organic vs. pesticide-grown veggies, grey hair, pink hair, rainbows or hard hats. What mattered when my brother wailed for help was being there for him and my sister-in-law, doing what I could to respond to the situation, being calm, being positive, and supporting this profoundly wounded big, strong brother in whatever way I could.

That’s why I’m in Florida, the only reason, to be with my brother who’s in constant, chronic pain; I have no idea how he copes. I suppose, like our dad, it’s hope, it’s planning vacations like this, it’s yearning for forgiveness, acceptance and peace that travel provides him with. Escape. Another view from a different window.

But no one ever does. Escape, that is. Not here in the Magic Kingdom, not in the lush forests of Oregon, not in the bottom of a bottle of which there is never enough to numb the pain that consumes some of us. 

The lightness of being. This expression comes to me often. Sitting on the cold and not especially clean bathroom tile as the crew sleeps and I try to be quiet, I realize I can’t solve The Problem. I’m not a Healer. I can’t surgically remove the scars, the prior bone breaks and bruises acquired over the years. But I can be light. I can look up, thank God, relax my face, my shoulders, my grip, smile, then scream with exhilaration like I did riding that Tron ride at Walt Disney’s magical kingdom. I let go. I let go of the tension, the fear, and became one with the ride instead of digging in my heals and resisting the ups and downs, swerves, and curves. 

Whatever the rest of this day brings, be it a ride down the resort’s lazy river, the predicted 96 degree temps, a trip to Disney Springs, it’ll all be good. Because we’ll be together. An impossibility, not that long ago, as I held tight to past wounds. 

Honestly, it’s kind of a miracle how good it feels to let go of the anger and fear I once felt whenever I was in the presence of my older sibling. If only I had noticed all those years ago, that it was my big, strong brother who was the most wounded one. I was an innocent victim in his war. Knowing that, might have prevented me from a lifetime of self-doubt. Then again, I wouldn’t be the person I am without the scars.

What I know for sure is that while the past can’t be changed, I can literally enjoy the ride, the people, and be present, focused, on the Light that illuminates the cracks, the veneer, and the Epcot Garden and Flower Show called Life.  

Except for my tapping keyboard, all is final quiet here in the condo. My brother is resting, my coffee is cold and outside the darkened curtains the blazing sun beckons me to rent an orange innertube and float my cares away or as the Disney tune goes,  “Just around the river bend…beyond the shore, somewhere past the sea.”