my brother’s hands (redux)
[I posted this about a year ago on a previous blogging platform. Recently, I had the occasion to sing my brother's praises to a new friend. One of my favourite activities. Got me to reflecting about the dude and, coincidentally, I came across this. So here it is again. The words and sentiments only concreted with the passage of another year.]
Quiet night, Sarah Harmer through the pipes, a glass of Tuscan red to my left. A recognition of neglecting my ink and the plan to post a daily photo (daily original text a little too temporally ambitious these days). Check folders of recent shots and find this one. Choke up a little.
It’s late and I’m too far from creative, too long from honest to attempt an articulation of what my brother means to me. Your reveal is that we split at the wrong age and took some time finding each other again. And since have been creating connection in shared blood stained the colour of black ink.
My brother is salt – hard, course and pure. He works his fingers to the bone, his soul to the limit. His depth cannot be measured with the tape on his belt.
He’s about to come in from the rain and embark on a new path, persuing the career of teacher to match his inherent skill. He will succeed at this as he has addressed everything life has handed him: full in the face, unwavering, the strongest of the strong.
Your big brother is in your corner, M. No towel necessary, no words. I’m just here to watch.
And smile. So proud.