This Post was inspired by Sidereal Catalyst. In fact, most of this post is a copy and paste from my response over there.
It’s sad but true that it’s the parents who glue the family unit together. It’s even sadder that sometimes when the parents are gone the glue becomes unglued and the units drift apart.
My parents are gone now, 6 years for Mom and almost 3 for dad. It was mom who held us together. It was mom that we got together at Christmas, birthdays and Thanksgiving for.
My brother *sigh*. I love him, I do, but some days I just don’t feel like he loves me. He’ll call sometimes, usually when he wants something but not always.
He lives a half hour away, but it might as well be a million miles.
I have all but given up on reaching out to him because it feels like any effort on my part is rebuffed by that little thing called an ignore button.
Bright spot :). I was going through my digital pix this morning looking for something and came across the Christmas pictures the second year after Mom died. There was one there of just him and dad which I sent on to him. I felt better for having shared something he so obviously had a part of. The thought of him responding or even thanking me didn’t even cross my mind, but he did thank me :).
I know life is hard, and we all get busy but really, how long does it take to dial a phone or put a few words in an email or text? Just let me know you’re still alive at least. Facebook and other public media accounts don’t count because they are impersonal, I can’t hear your voice or reach out and touch you or look you in the face.
Facebook is how I found out your wife’s mother is ill.
Facebook is how I know anything about you, really, since you can’t take the time to inform your own sister about what’s going on in your life.
Yes, it hurts that it feels like I mean so little to you, whether it’s true or not is irrelevant since I’m talking about MY feelings.
Yes, I’m bitter but it’s not something I generally dwell on. What’s the use of dwelling since it just makes me feel worse.
I remember the stories of us as kids, how I wouldn’t let anyone near you once they brought you home from the hospital. “My baby!” I’d shout! Lol
*sigh, I’d better let you go before I get all teary and stuff.