I was talking to Stacy one night about Brother, and the guilt that I carry with me for not being a better sister to him when he was small.
Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever forgive myself for the things I did, or didn't do, as a child.
(And then I realized that if I carry this much guilt, how must my Momma feel?)
Brother needs a job in a bad way. Brother has a past that is fighting against him, turning leads into dead ends and favors into smoke. Brother's trying, but his frustration is palpable, and I worry for him if someone doesn't give him a break soon.
We all need second chances. Third, fourth, fifth chances, some of us need.
Of course, when we talked, I said all the wrong things. I always do. I forget myself. I forget the lens through which he sees me. I wish he didn't think I had my shit together. I wish he didn't think I'm old and out of touch.
I wish I'd been a better friend to him when we were young.
He was upset when we hung up the phone yesterday, and he didn't call me back. Of course, I was in bed at 9:45; his night was probably just getting started. I am old and out of touch. His voice is what I heard before I went to bed last night and as I was becoming conscious this morning.
He could sure use some positive thoughts sent his way, or prayers sent up on his behalf. If you've got a moment today, would you spare it for him please?