Wannabe Martha

Still trying to figure out which Martha

His & Hers (Part Deux)

I thought I would take a last look at our living room. He’s taking it today and I suppose I’m glad because it will be done and I won’t have to fear it. I had wished he would do it on a weekday when the girls were not here, but things are what they are. At least it’s nearly over.

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I guess it was a pretty welcoming place

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Going to need a new home for Rosencrantz & Guildenstern

And maybe it’s passive-aggressive as all get out, but I’m not helping. 

[Edited to add that if the GF doesn’t stop calling him every 30 seconds it’s never going to get done!]

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With Love to my Mother

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Isn’t she lovely? She smelled of Arpège and wore “Fire and Ice” lipstick. She baked the best apple pie and blueberry muffins and she cooked the worst hamburgers. She was fiercely devoted to her family and she loved my father with everything she had (her words, not mine). She was the wisest, most compassionate woman I’ve ever known and I feel privileged to be her daughter.
Happy Birthday Mother.

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There’s No Such Thing As Sweet Sorrow

I should be calling my brother to wish him a happy birthday today, but I’ll be lighting a candle for him instead.

His death feels particularly personal – he was all I had left of my family and for reasons neither I, nor his wife, nor his sons can fathom, he determined that life was no longer worth living.  It’s the kind of death where grief and anger are so intertwined they’re nearly impossible to differentiate.  Then again, maybe I don’t want to.  I miss him terribly and yet am enraged that one more time I had to be grateful, grateful, that death came; that a prolonged lingering didn’t suffocate us all.

Mostly, though, I wish he’d called me to say goodbye.

 

 

 

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Another Thing Big Sisters Do For Their Younger Brothers

 [29 Aug 14 – Because there are REPULSIVE PERVERTS out there, I edited this post to reflect the following spelling “p*rn”.  You see, today a @#$%!*&^ PERVERT found my site by searching:  “big sister with younger brother p*rn”.  UGH!]

Long Ago – say, summer 1983, if I remember correctly – I’m minding my own business in my room, when brother #1 barges in and shuts the door behind him.

Paul:      “Maevey?”

Me:        “What?”

Paul:      “I need you to do something for me.”

Me:        “What?”

Paul:      “I need you to hang on to this”

I am handed a brown paper bag.

Me:        “What’s in here?”

Paul:      “Just stuff I need you to hang on to”

Me:        “OMIGOD this is your p*rn stash! You want me to hide your p*rn?!

Paul:      “Will you keep it down already? You know how Mom freaked the last time”

(note that “the last time” was the prior year’s Boy Scout camping trip and idiot brothers #1 & #2 hid their collective stash between the mattress and box spring of brother #1’s bed. Which would have been OK except that my Mother decided to use this opportunity to do a good spring cleaning of their rooms and flip mattresses, etc. I was privy to her reaction upon finding the stash. It wasn’t good.)

Me:        “Why do I have to do this? Can’t you get one of your buds to cover for you?”

Paul:      “There’s no time. So, are you gonna hang on to this or not?”

Me:        “FINE FINE FINE – but you owe me big time!”

Paul:      “Cool. Just don’t look in the bag”

Me:        “You’re a complete perv!

Paul:      “Yeah. Whatever.”

So, I hid their stash inside a box at the back of my closet. And the whole time I felt like I have my very own “Tell Tale Heart” situation going on in there.  I swear, my mother knew – just knew – I was covering for them. She never said anything, but still….I JUST KNEW.

One of the longest weeks of my life!

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His & Hers

It’s hard to divide up your household and remain dispassionate.  Not that I was ever all that dispassionate, but I had promised myself that there would be no outward evidence of inner turmoil.

I guess I’m doing OK with that.

Still, it’s a struggle to see things that marked milestones in your relationship leaving their places.   I’m finding that, in way, the memories are being packed up along with the items they accompanied.  A painting we bought my first visit to Charleston; a table and chairs we saved for so long to buy; pictures of us; the living room furniture we bought our first Christmas in this house.  Some things are leaving.  Some are just getting put away – maybe our daughters will want them some day.  But they have no place in my home anymore.  Now I just need him to hammer down a date to take away all of these things he wants.

Once, I thought that we could not have a home without him.    But that was fear talking – because just last night this house was brimming with love and laughter and optimism and hope .  It’s definitely a home and I’m not afraid any more.

 

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Things Big Sisters Do For Their Baby Brothers

One Random Saturday morning – July 1994

(phone rings)

Me:    Hello

Mike:    Hey Maeve

Me:    Hey yourself. What’s up?

Mike:    Going to the beach. What you up to today?

Me:    Not much. Housework. The usual.

Mike:    Great. So, can I borrow Angharad?

Me:    Can you borrow Angharad?

Mike:    Yeah – just for a little while. Couple hours tops. And can you put her in some really girly dress and one of those hat things Mom got for her.

Me:    OK – hold on a minute. Why do you want to take Angharad to the beach?

Mike:    To meet girls.

Me:    You want to take my baby to the beach to meet girls.

Mike:    Yep. She’s better than a puppy. Total Babe Bait. So, when can I pick her up?

Me:    (Sigh) Give me an hour. And you better take good care of her or you’re dead meat.

Mike:    No problem. See ya soon. Bye

I don’t remember how many girls’ numbers he got that day.

The Babe Bait

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Michael

30 December 1966 – 18 September 1994

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