After I just blogged about my Thanksgiving dinner with my brother, I found it ironic that this weeks FWF was on Gratitude. It is almost what I have just written about.
I will write about it again, because in my mind the most smallest of things in life, are to be grateful for and with gratitude there comes no dollar signs.
Gratitude to me means many things. I have a home, with a roof, that keeps me safe from winds, rains, deep heat, and snow. I can gather my family here, and enjoy laughter, and make memories to keep in the back of my mind, for the days when I am no longer able to get out, or may not even remember a time when family comes to visit.
I can sit inside the warmth of my home and watch the rain beat out on the sidewalks, turning dull gray into shiny glass reflections, bouncing from the trees. I can watch the snowflakes gently fall, and try to count each unique flake, and remember back to when I was a child,where I would race outside in my new coat mom and dad bought me, and open my mouth wide, only to lick up the flakes and laugh, and then fall into the virgin snow, to make snow angels.
There is a quietness now in my home, where only God and I live. Al is no longer living here but has acquired another home where many angels can watch over him, and the worry is taken off of my shoulders, in which I worried whether I was doing enough, or doing things right to help him remain standing and pain-free.
I was filled with gratitude, when I was able to drive to his new home, and proudly walk in, and say that I, was there to pick up my baby brother. I was there to bring him back to his familiar home. He was asleep, so soundly sleeping, that I had to call out his name softly three times, but when he opened his eyes, my heart beat like the beat of the drums, when he looked up at me with half alert eyes, and smiled big at me. This ripped my chest cavity wide open, as my heart could not quit expanding from joy, that he smiled at me.
He was not angry, he was not sad, he had made peace with his room and his roommate in his new home, and he wanted to come home with big sister. There are no dollar amounts, nor could the richest pay me enough, for what I felt at the precise moment in my life.
I had the ramp that he would walk, with the red carpet, showing him that he was and always will remain king of this home. He walked through a veil of white, Christmas lights, that twinkled, hidden amongst silver tinsel, letting him feel the flow of happiness, that I felt being able to bring him home for a day.
When he walked into the living room, it had been transformed into a child’s dream of a beautiful Christmas tree, adorned with soft multi-colored lights and replicas of ornaments that we used to stare at in awe when we were children ourselves.
The smells coming from within, of Pumpkin pie, and ham and everything that we remembered from our youth, awaited his nostrils, drawing him into a home filled with love and memories.
Although, Parkinson’s Disease has been attacking his heart, and forcing him to slow down and have more pain, my baby brother sacrificed all of this to show me he loved me. NO, he did not say, I love you sis, his actions of being here told me everything my heart wanted to feel.
He asked to go back early to his new home. He told me he was glad that I had picked him up and brought him home, but his pain was so bad, that he needed to go back to lie down. After taking him back, and getting him comfortable and situated, I told him I loved him, and I thanked him for coming for the day. I thanked him for being my baby brother and spending this family day together.
When I reached my car, I have to admit, there were a couple of tears, gently falling, shining like the tinsel on the ramp, I made for him, reflections of the rain, gently turning the gray sidewalks into mirrors of glass.
I looked up to the stars and I thanked God for the gift of my brother. For this holiday, the two of us shared love without speaking it, we shared time, that could not be calculated on the clock, we shared memories of our past, and I made new memories to savor for when I am old and rocking in my rocker, gazing outside at the gentle snowflakes falling, and smiling for the good life God had granted me.