As I hung up the phone I began to cry. Tears of sadness. Tears of pride. Tears of pure empathy. Tears.
We live life through moments, and we don’t always know what the next moment might bring or when it’s going to hit. I literally had just uttered the words, “Nick leaves for Iraq tomorrow,” to my husband, and the phone rang. I carried this weight with me all day but hadn’t shared it with anyone. Then, I spoke with Nick on the phone. He was his typical goofy self – cracking jokes and talking as if he just called to call. I made it through the phone call strong; I felt I had to as I can’t imagine what emotions are plaguing him - leaving his wife and five-month-old son to go and “clean up” a war. Whatever that means. Carrying the thought that some men and women go to this place and never return. He is proud to do this and proud of our country; more driven then I have seen him probably ever, but still taking on such a big task with huge risks involved.
As his big sister that unfortunately hasn’t always been the most supportive, but rather, judgmental, I still want to protect him. I still envision this little boy that shouldn’t see death first-hand, or have to wonder about his safety every day. I feel his wife’s pain just thinking about if the situation were my own. I think of what it’s like to be in his shoes, missing the first year of his son’s life. I hurt knowing that he carries the pain of losing his mother, and regarding her as his “guardian angel.” I don’t want to have him need a guardian angel.
Today’s moment was a million thoughts and emotions surfacing about my brother. Thinking about his first-grade play in Mrs. Greene’s class where he was such a star. Long, shaggy hair and personality to boot. Thinking about when we were the only two left at home and having to have our picture taken together. We both thought that was the worst thing ever. Remembering having him pose for pictures in all of his new school clothes before 2nd or 3rd grade. Being livid over his birth, because I was no longer the baby. Thinking about how strong he has been through the last five years, and how driven he is to make us proud.
We live life through moments, and we don’t always know what the next moment might bring or when it’s going to hit. I literally had just uttered the words, “Nick leaves for Iraq tomorrow,” to my husband, and the phone rang. I carried this weight with me all day but hadn’t shared it with anyone. Then, I spoke with Nick on the phone. He was his typical goofy self – cracking jokes and talking as if he just called to call. I made it through the phone call strong; I felt I had to as I can’t imagine what emotions are plaguing him - leaving his wife and five-month-old son to go and “clean up” a war. Whatever that means. Carrying the thought that some men and women go to this place and never return. He is proud to do this and proud of our country; more driven then I have seen him probably ever, but still taking on such a big task with huge risks involved.
As his big sister that unfortunately hasn’t always been the most supportive, but rather, judgmental, I still want to protect him. I still envision this little boy that shouldn’t see death first-hand, or have to wonder about his safety every day. I feel his wife’s pain just thinking about if the situation were my own. I think of what it’s like to be in his shoes, missing the first year of his son’s life. I hurt knowing that he carries the pain of losing his mother, and regarding her as his “guardian angel.” I don’t want to have him need a guardian angel.
Today’s moment was a million thoughts and emotions surfacing about my brother. Thinking about his first-grade play in Mrs. Greene’s class where he was such a star. Long, shaggy hair and personality to boot. Thinking about when we were the only two left at home and having to have our picture taken together. We both thought that was the worst thing ever. Remembering having him pose for pictures in all of his new school clothes before 2nd or 3rd grade. Being livid over his birth, because I was no longer the baby. Thinking about how strong he has been through the last five years, and how driven he is to make us proud.
Sitting under the tree, pondering his future, Nick proudly holds Lane, his son.
It was a moment of realization that people are fighting a war for my safety. For my lifestyle. For my kids. My family. Not just “people.” Brothers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, etc. People that have families that love them and cherish them and will spend every moment praying for their safe return to our “normal” lives.
I am so proud of my brother, and the chance to relish in the moments of life. We don’t get these moments back, so we need to enjoy them all.
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