The words got stuck inside him, either he was slow or socially awkward, doing his job with mirthful intention. I loved him.

Day 21

I missed writing yesterday. I slept late and spent time with my family. It turned out he broke his wrist and elbow. My brother has shoulders like a linebacker, the emotions of a three year old, and the heart of a grandmother who could encompass the universe. When we were in line at the hospital he offered his spot to a 90 year old in a wheelchair . Both perfect gentleman, the old man declined on the principle that my brother had been standing in line and could wait his turn like everyone else. My heart lurched for both of them. The hospital greeter was tall, holding his elbows high, moving them side to side as he walked, teetering, He was attractive and young, blond hair, probably the son of a military father whom he disappointed by working in the hospital, a hospital hostess. I can see his father shaking his head at his gentle boy. He stood behind a wooden podium asking patients to have their ID ready, dressed in a full suit and dress shoes. The words got stuck inside him, either he was slow or socially awkward, doing his job with mirthful intention. I loved him. My brother stood next to me, arm in a sling from Urgent Care. We were trying to get him a cast before his bone set and had to be broke again. He is red faced and insolent, teetering between crying and screaming at us, the latter happens more. I think he is so sensitive that his tears become sharp so quickly that he doesn’t know how to stop it, so he gets away with it and we wait, licking our wounds till he comes around. I am using less words with him. I am holding space for him to heal. That is all we can do.