When I was 13, I was blessed with a baby brother. Sure, some days I wasn’t too pleased as a teenager to be sharing a home with a “terrible two,” but just like a mother of a child, you grow to love this tiny little person so crazy-fierce. Which is often how I feel about my baby brother (and the sister who followed); as if I’m a second mother of sorts.
The reality of course is that I’m closer in spirit to a grandmother than a mother because, you the know the old saying, it was all fun and no responsibility. But regardless, when there is a gap of this great of years, you’ve been through it all with them – birth, diapers, childhood, adolescence, and now adulthood.
So you see, although he’s all grown up, I can still fly right into a “mamma bear” maelstrom of emotion. And I’ve been feeling a lot of emotion these days. Because of this:
April and Adham found me sprawled inside the wreckage with blood pouring out of my head and moaning unintelligibly. I must have momentarily lost motor abilities, as my attempts to get up pathetically failed. April says she’ll never get that image out of her head, and I don’t envy her the memory.
Oh, these babies, why do they have to grow up?