lyricalechoes

He cut me out of his life. He is not cruel, just dismissive. He ignores me but is not unkind. For years, I wept at the loss of love and longed to hold him. I longed to speak of memories with him and thank him for our mutual past.

I wanted to remind him of how he'd let me drive him with a jump-rope, he the horse and I the wagon-driver. Then we would switch and I'd willingly follow his lead. Today I would follow his reins if he would only drive again.

But he is gone. A quiet, uninterested stranger stands in his place. A book recommendation is all my brother offers in return for the love of my heart.

And so I hold his daughter. My arm encircles his son. I whisper to his boy about a birthday as the little boy snuggles in for a hug.

I thank the fates, whoever shuffles out the cards assigning parents to small children, that this little boy won't be attacked by his mother. This little boy won't have to claw for existence. This boy won't have to fight to preserve his soul. His mom won't pelt him with stones, leaving welts that never fade. This boy won't live without condemnation, guilt, and blame.

This boy, son of my brother, will be able to love his sisters. He won't stand, uninterested and silent about their lives. He is not wounded yet, as his father is. Oh, how I long to heal his father's heart!

But today, this has to be enough. At least the future is unscarred. Perhaps our next generation, at least, will not fear love.