A letter to my brother

Dear John,

I have looked at this picture dozens of times, yet this is the first time I understood its meaning.

I decided to write this letter to you John, as siblings we lack the skill to really communicate with each other. It maybe that the loss of our mother when we were so young is the reason we are not open with each other about our feelings for each other.

The picture had me reflect on the relationship of us four siblings, I realize we have difficulty in communicating with each other.  I always feel there is much left unsaid even after a phone call.

In the picture our older sister Rose is laughing in the background. Rose is and never has been the shrinking violet of the family.  In her younger years, she was feisty and outspoken. Now while she is a robust 80+ senior, a conversation with her always ends with what we call her “Dead friends roll call” as she lists those who are now gone in spite of the reason for her phone call was to see how we are doing. “

Then there is our younger sister.  She separated from us emotionally.  As a kid, she tried to pretend she was not a “project kid.”  She was ashamed of me particularly for being clumsy and naive.  At one time, she even developed an upper-class accent.  As an adult, she has tried to join us, but it always is awkward and she has a total lack of understanding of who we are. She waited too long.

You and I, John are close, however, I feel you too hold on to your feelings tightly.

At your wife’s funeral, I said something that I had never said to you that took me 70 plus years to say:  I held your hand and said: “I love you, John.”

You did not respond, but I did not really expect a reply.

This is what brought me back to the picture.

Here you were an 8-year-old boy not looking aggravated at his 4-year-old sister (me) crying her eyes out because she got splashed.  You are caring and loving as you hold my hand.

It made me realize that over the years, you never let my hand go.  It was you that got me out of the factory floor and into an office job. You walked me down the aisle, and had a friend install a window for us, and paid for the bath conversion when my husband was diagnosed with Huntington’s. I was the first person you called when dad and your wife passed away.

You are the only one who calls regularly to see how I am doing.

Now that I think of it, John, all these years, you never let go of my hand.

This is why your sudden death has left me feeling lost.

I will say it again, John, I love you.

Your loving sister,

Mary