Fifty Two

Day Fifty-Two:  The end result

He sat in my lap like he used to when he was little and I made him pinky swear that he would always hug, kiss, and spend time with  me even when he grew taller than me, drank beers and lived on his own.  He promised with his half toothy grin half Jess-I’m-watching-according-to-jim-let-me-go grimace.  I leaned backwards and accidentally fell off of the chair, to which he fell on top of my face.  His shoulder collided with my nose, and I pinky promise you that tomorrow morning there will be a bruise.  He changed the channel after I got up to the wedding show, put his arm around me and rubbed my hands.  He got me water, and when I offered to change the channel back to his show he said I could watch mine.  He may not fit into a bundle in my arms anymore, but that sensitivity and lovingness will never go away.  He’s bigger and awkward now, and it’s hard for me to come to terms that as much as I want to I can’t protect him from the hurt.  I try to with Riss but I can’t, Kyle just keeps growing, keeps seeing and hearing and learning, he knows more about itunes and google than I could ever know, and he doesn’t know how to handwrite but can type on a touch screen faster than any of my friends.  He dances in the shower to Macklemore and still begrudgingly shares his chips with his almost-nine-years-older oldest sister.  He’s my little bean, my little boosh, Bub, an assortment of the names I’ve come up for him since he was born.  I still hug and kiss him, I still tell him he’s special, and I never want that to go away.  He’s my baby brother, and so so so special to me.

On our arms we display our hearts

Our sleeves are the embraces when distance prevails

x