Because for years, he cared for my son, out of a sense of duty. Out of a need to watch over us. Because for years he's furnished a means for me to have this collective, to keep the circus going, keep it close. Because for years he's provided me the good parts of Cole. Because for years he made the world smaller that anyone else. Because for years he taught me to be brave. To face my monsters. And that the scariest monsters sometimes wear Tiffany cuff links and Valentino suits, and call you Sweetheart, and offer you the moon.
And because even if I continued to cut him off cold it won't bring Jacob back. Jacob isn't coming back. Jacob made the choice that he did and I don't agree with it. How could a technicality overshadow what is right in front of you? And then I remember how easy it is to become overwhelmed by what we feel and I don't blame him at all.
But you're supposed to find a coping mechanism. He had so many. God. Friends. Getting drunk and quoting Winnie The Pooh. His band. Singing all the time besides. Sex. Good. hard. sex. Running, even though he HATED running. Take out food. Long drives. Camping. Horses. Motorcycles. Helping others. Hospice. Chaplain duties. Teaching. Jesus. He had so much to take his mind off his own troubles, it's hard to believe he had time to be troubled.
In contrast to cope Caleb sits in a chair and looks at his brother's artwork.
Which is all of me, I might add.
Healthy.
But he's still here. And he needs more than a chair. More than some photographs and paintings and a dead brother and a surrogate not-your-family-after-all but we used to be related by marriage and a bunch of sometimes/former friends (they're trying, bless their hearts) and I am generous as always because to be anything else at this point just breaks more hearts and we've had enough of that. I have to set an example. I'm the toughest, so it makes sense.
“And I know it seems easy," said Piglet to himself, "but it isn't every one who could do it.” ~A.A. Milne