October 15, 2001

      Himself's older brother came to visit this weekend.  He was the final brother for me to meet - the oldest in a family of four boys (not including the cousin that lived with them.)  

     So last night He spent the evening with us, and slept over.  Which was probably a good thing since we managed to inhale massive quantities of wine. Ouch.  Going to work this morning was a true test of endurance.  

     It was all very cool though.  He was the nicest person, and i got past some of my angst about whether He'd hate me or not.  i think He's a bit more 'proper' than the rest of the family - more like Himself's mother in fact - but He handled some of the revelations about my background rather gracefully i thought.  And His jaw only lowered to the table (rather than the floor) when we regaled Him with biker stories and "Master at my mother's funeral along with the hubster and kids" stories.  

     i've been feeling a touch of sadness ever since though.  For some reason all the visiting and watching the interaction of the two brothers reminded me of my younger brother, and how he seems to have withdrawn himself from me.  i've heard from him twice since my mother died, both times after i'd moved here.  And then we mostly discussed our reactions to our childhood and about how she handled her death.  Well, to be more precise, how she managed to exclude us in her dying.  

     Yes, we were given "things".  my sister and i each received a ring, and other various items.  The boys didn't receive anything i think.  Not that i am aware of anyway.  And i was given the painting done by the artist neighbour who at one point in my youth, had shunned my artwork.  Yet still i treasure this painting - it somehow represents some of the more positive aspects of my teenage years.

     But my younger brother coveted it as well.  Not for the sentimental value, but for the monetary.  This became apparent years after she'd written a will, when it was left to me.  However, she changed her will frequently.  In the end, she admitted that she'd told my brother he could have the painting, forgetting that she'd willed it to me all those years before.  Her solution?  She put a small piece of masking tape on the back, with my brother's name on it... then gave it to me to hang on my walls.  i think she was counting on my guilt.

     Then the fateful days of the two phone calls occurred.  And this is when my brother explained that he'd been getting prices on what the painting was worth.  To which i didn't react very well.  Sell my sentiments?  Never!

     He did back down.  i told him what i believed the money value to be... and what the real value to me was, and he let it go.  But i haven't heard from him since.  i let things lay low for awhile - let him have his space.  And then i called him recently, to wish him a happy 40th birthday.  His voice mail picked up, and he never acknowledged the call.

     Now i'm at war with myself.  Should i sell the painting and share the profits?  Should i continue to have it hang on my wall, knowing its presence will remind me forever that it caused a rift with my brother?  Should i just ship it off to him, knowing full well it will be sold within minutes of him receiving it?  Himself doesn't even like it.  But how much of me do i shed?

     Is any of this even worth the stress?

     i'm beginning to think that it's not.  i should just pack it up and tell him it's his to do with as he wishes.  Yet i fear that i've given away, or tossed aside, so many things already, that one day i'll be a very old woman without a past.  A senile old woman who won't be able to tell what she lived, and won't have any clues left for others to discover how i must have once been.

     Just like my mother.

                

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