Love, Bubba
As young children, my brother and I played together in all
the ways siblings close in age do. We played in the mud, pumped our legs to
swing ourselves, read books, sang songs, pretended we were Batman and Robin. I
was bigger, so I was Batman (of course!).
In our teens and twenties, we grew apart, focused on
schooling, relationships, and careers, but we started growing closer again in
our 30s, 40s, and 50s. We were caring for aging parents, and this care required
frequent emails and phone calls, as well as frequent visits. Though much of
this time was painful, long hours spent by nursing home beds provided the
chance to reminisce, too. Nobody knows you like your siblings do.
Our parents are both dead now, but my brother and I are
still in regular contact with each other. These days, he’s between jobs, and
I’m now a caregiver for my post-stroke husband. We have anxious moments and
need to blow off steam. A recent visit found us reminiscing about our younger
sister: as a three-year-old, she had a spot-on imitation of Howard
Cosell—“speaking of sports.” We enjoy sharing these memories.
A late-talker, my brother had trouble pronouncing my name.
His closest approximation was "Bubba," and, as a child, I found this
incorrect pronunciation annoying. These days, however, I gladly answer to "Bubba."
-- submitted by Elder RoseWalk
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1 comment:
Rosewalk, Your story of being close to your brother and then reconnecting later reminds me of how I enjoy my brother now although it took our parents deaths to bring us back together. So happy it happened sometime. Thanks for sharing one of the difficulties of life
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