The Tears I Shed

They made fun of me in kindergarten,
she told me.

Who did.
What did they say.

I asked through sentences broken by the knot in my throat as they came out.

She said this as if it were just a passing thought;
with as little weight as could be assigned
to a statement. Baffling, especially for one
that meant so much to me.

This brilliant, not so little girl.
Who with the twist of some yarn, could create a knitted beauty of a scarf.
Who with a small seed of inspiration could plant an intricate drawing on the leaves of her sketchbook.
Who with an hour of silence could write words with arms and legs that gives them the ability to come off the page and physically pull those tears from your eyes.
Who I told not to be afraid of the monsters in her closet because I like the taste of them, especially the red ones.
Who I remind daily of my existence as her personal bodyguard ready to break down, rip through, and kill any obstacle, wall or enemy she encounters.

Told me of the time I wasn't there for her, and how the monsters almost ate her.

--

With every word she absorbed, they began
to hurt less.
Not because they were less painful
but because her tolerance had grown.

This little girl, who i promised to protect
till the day I was gone
from the second she was placed
in my arms- she newly born, and I only eight-- and I held her close enough
so that the thump of my heart through my chest
was among the first sounds she heard.

All eight of my years of wisdom
rung true with that single promise
that i knew i meant more than
anything i had ever said all my life.

All eight of those first years
 turned out to be weightless.
As she said what she told me.

While i dressed up everyday to build a high school legacy that meant
so much then
 but that means so little now, my baby sister did too, for elementary school. 

While I threw on
 the right shirt with the right jeans,
She threw on sweatpants with her favorite dolphin shirt.

While i put on
 my contacts and passed her on the way to the bathroom,
she got her hair put up by mom in the ponytail that she wore everyday.

After I sprayed on my cologne,
i walked to the kitchen for breakfast and left a trail
of my scent that wafted into the room as my baby sister looked in the mirror and wondered what the other girls would say.

While i ate my cereal,
the same little girl i promised to protect walked towards the table ready to share a nice moment with this older brother, who she barely got to see but who she loved so dearly, in the morning before having to endure another day at school.

Down she sat,
only to hear from me that i didn't like her shirt, and to wear something other than sweatpants for once.  So there she sat, in silence, wondering if she'd even be able to hug me before I left to fight my own battles.

Battles
that only now do i realize were nothing compared to the ones I'll fight for her until I'm gone and that I wish I'd have realized where there to be fought when I looked the other way.

if only they knew
who her brother was.

if only they knew
what i could have done.

Reviews

[Matching Socks]

Gosh, this was such a wonderful write so full of emotion, and some regret.
It's hard to be everything that everyone else needs us to be, especially those that look up to us.
We're not perfect, not even close.

[Pegs Van Damme]

thanks so much again! this one deff took an emotional toll on me

[Matching Socks]

You're welcome, I think you did it very well. :)

[Chris]

It strikes a chord within of family and expectations and self-set responsibilities. Part of what being big-brother and parenting is somehow expected to be all about. You set a good stage.

[Pegs Van Damme]

wow, excellent, it really was what i was aiming for. tried to reflect how fiercely a big brother like myself takes it upon himself to meet expectations when it comes to family