He Ain't Heavy ... or maybe he is

"No burden is he to bear, we'll get there. For I know he will not encumber
me, because he ain't heavy--he's my brother"

My brother and I have never really gotten along, sweet story about the box of quarters notwithstanding. Our household growing up was more like four people sharing a living space than a family bonded by blood and love. Fend for Yourself was the unspoken family motto. Now, don't get out your tiny violins, this isn't a story about why I'm in psychotherapy, it was not a bad childhood, just not a very loving one. It took a lot of growing up on my part, and a very special man I am lucky enough to call my husband, to show me what loving someone else is really about.

But back to my brother. We seldom have shouting matches, and there is probably nothing really detestable about either one of us. But we just don't click. Over the years, and due in part to his moving to another state, our relationship dwindled into a smattering of awkward phone conversations mandated by birthdays, Christmas, and the like. In June of this year, our mother turned 60. Her sisters, who live all across the country, decided to have a surprise party for her, including all of her out of state relatives. In order to keep my brother's visit secret until the party, he stayed with me and my family overnight. In a series of petty events too long to detail, he ended up being critical of his stay in our home. He continued to harp on it, into the next day at the party. I raised my voice at him and told him to "lay off". He didn't, and my husband came to my defense with the passion of a thousand firey hot suns. Due to the years of built-up steam over my strained relationship with my brother, my husband blew up. Said some things he shouldn't have said. Used some words he shouldn't have used. He apologized, but it apparently wasn't enough. And that was the last I talked to my brother.

I found out from my sister-in-law today that my brother told her not to get Christmas gifts for my family, or to "keep his name off them" if she decided to get them for us on her own. It hurts.

Funny, holiday time reminds me that when I was 5, my brother gift-wrapped me a jar of mud for Christmas. Should I forgive him, and we can call it even?