Connections

It's Tuesday (well, Wednesday) and the weekend already seems so long ago. I can't believe the remarkable change in my life over the past few months, and especially over the past few weeks. It has to do with things largely out of my control, but I am fortunate that the changes mean positive things for me.

I was horribly nervous as I drove to the airport on Saturday morning. Would A be stiff and guarded? Should I hug him? Could the rift be repaired? As he came out of the terminal to meet me promptly at 9:32 a.m., he immediately smiled and hugged me. I had good feelings. I drove him tto Berkeley for brunch at a small restaurant serving French country breakfasts. We only had a 10-minute wait, which is extremely rare for that place. We chatted about our respective trips to Tahoe, drank our coffee and ate our food leisurely. Afterwards, he asked to go to a store near UC Berkeley to buy some gear. We did, and then I took him on a tour of campus, showing him where the art history department is and where I used to teach. He thought the campus was beautiful (it is, even if it isn't his home turf of Ole Miss), and marveled at how green everything is. It certainly provides stark contrast to the dry, desert landscape of San Diego, where he lives. I gingerly ventured toward the topic of adoption a few times in the morning but was rebuffed gently. 

In the afternoon we met up with Mark and the boys and took our regular family trip to Crissy Field so that A could enjoy the spectacular views of the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz. Finn ran around gleefully and the boys were pretty well behaved. Mark and I are quite shockingly bad at not keeping exacting tabs on Callum and Tobey, and more than once A would ask where Tobey was and I wouldn't know. I think it's because A has a three-year-old and has to be more vigilant about parental monitoring of child locations. Nevertheless, I am sure A raised an inner eyebrow about my parenting skills. But A is a very genial man and easy to get along with. He and Mark hit it off immediately, and when M drove our minivan up the steep acclivity of Lombard so that A could travel down one of the U.S.'s crookedest streets, both Mark and A were white knuckled in the stop-and-go traffic. They bonded. 

At home later on, we fed the boys and got them prepared for a late-night pajama birthday party. We then let them watch a little TV while we drank beer and ate snacks. A was telling us more about his deployment in Afghanistan, which sounded brutal on all counts. And A does autopsies and works with tissue samples and foreign objects in a lab. So he's used to some disgusting stuff.

The boys went off to the party, and A and I drove to dinner. Once in the car, A said "Let's get it all out on the table. I know you hate me, but this is what I did, and this is why I did it." Apparently he was very depressed while in Afghanistan and the stress of being away and feeling in the middle of C and me was too much. Cutting me out was a way to simplify. We talked about how he felt his religious obligations to his parents meant their desires came before mine. I pointed out that when parents ask their adult children to do unethical things, the adult children are not breaking a commandment by refusing to follow the unethical direction. A countered that ideally parents don't ask such things, and I replied that parents are humans, and humans are fallible, so of course they do. I think it struck a nerve.

A told me that when he got back from Afghanistan, T told him that she was horrified about what they'd done to me. She said that they'd never done it to anyone before in all their years together and that they shouldn't do it to me. He sat on this dilemma until I sent him that impassioned text last November, telling him that I knew they all wished I were dead and that they were horrible people for thinking that. I spurred him and C into action, which is a good thing, I suppose. He also told me that he had a long discussion about me with my uncle, C's brother. My uncle apparently wants to meet me and was very curious about my trip to Posey County last summer. B (my uncle) asked A if B would have recognized me in the grocery store. A told him, "Yes, absolutely." It's so weird to hear him say that because in all the pictures I have seen of C, I don't think I look all that much like her. Maybe it's the gestures or body language that intensifies things. Maybe it's wishful thinking on my part. Maybe one day I will find out.

I was of course crying by this point of the evening. A asked if I knew that he loved me. I said that I knew he did before, but that I wasn't so sure anymore. I told him that if I love you, I love you forever. Even if loving you isn't good for me. He said that of course he loves me, and that he always did. I said that I couldn't live with contingent love, and he said that the time of "the horrible ridiculousness" is over. Everyone knows, and there's no secret to be kept. That's a relief. At one point A said, "K, you have such a big heart. It's bigger than your chest." Other people have told me this, but it was something altogether different coming from my brother, someone I love with all I have. I want him to feel that, and it seems that he does.

I continue to see so much of myself in A, including my insecurities. I know that he's taken the walls down. He's asked me if I would edit his personal statement for applications to fellowships [in a heartbeat!]. It is amazing to feel loved and included. On the other hand, A is suffering from an immense load of guilt. I have told him over and over that I have forgiven him; he needs to forgive himself now. He said that it's hard to do. Definitely. And yet he has to absolve himself. I have been where he is, worried that a person you love doesn't love you back to quite the same degree. I find it ironic that my brother is worried that I don't love and respect him. 

When thinking back over the weekend, it just felt so right. So easy. I can't describe it properly, but there's an intense feeling of connection that is absent from any other relationship I've had. He smells right, even. I could tell he was my brother without input from my rational brain. We know our tribes. Really, we do.