If you want a rainbow...you gotta put up with the rain.
Day 42 was horrible. We all know that by now. It was my proverbial rain storm (monsoon, typhoon, whatever)...but after said storm, I got one of the most beautiful rainbows a girl can get.
My brother told me he loved me.
Sounds so simple, but it was the first time he ever said it to me, and it stopped me in my tracks.
Perhaps I should clarify a bit here. This wasn't the first time in his entire life that he said it to me...he had done it plenty of times before...but this was the first time he said it as an adult on his own free will. None of that "love you too" business after I said it first. No half-hearted hug with a prod from my mother, "tell your sister you love her, Steve." Nope...this wasn't any of those.
This was a Sarah who was down and out, depressed and mopey, trying to stay tough...and a brother who saw through it all. He gave me a bear hug, told me he loved me and meant it.
There can only be a rainbow after the rain.
There were so many horrible things about February 11th, and one great thing about February 12th, it brought my brother and I closer.
I don't think I told him about February 11th, I think my mom did. We actually never really talked about it. I think he asked a few questions in a curt, big-brother tone, which I answered awkwardly and succinctly (praying it would all just be over soon)...but that was about it. He knew enough to be mad, and protective, and that meant the world to me.
My brother and I were never exactly close. Out of the three Swistak kids, we're closest in age, and while we're alike in temperament, that's about where our similarities end. My brother was a star athlete (even in college), and I got winded walking up a flight of stairs. He was popular...I was, uh...well, I was his braces-wearing, boy crazy, falling in love with all your hot teammates little sister. He was real close with my sister (she too inherited the uber sexy, intelligent, athletic gene), and I was...well...I was the loud-mouthed, attention-loving, singing, dancing fool (guess not much has changed - ha!).
When all this happened -- it's not like we lived far apart from one another. We both went to Michigan State, and although he was in med school at this point, he was no more than a few miles from where I lived. Still...we never really hung out, never called each other up to chit chat...he was busy, I was busy, we were family, we loved each other, and that was it. See you for grandpa's birthday, or Christmas, or that random barbecue. That is, until this happened. He went into big brother overdrive...he started coming over to check on me, to take me out to dinner (partly to make sure I was actually eating), he offered to drop off the PPO (until I decided he probably would have killed the guy with his bare hands, and that would have been more trouble than good)...and most importantly, he was quick with a hug...and plenty of 'I love you's'.
I lost a lot of people that were close to me when this happened. A lot of friends turned their backs and walked away. I was told (more than a time or two) that I shouldn't have been drinking, that I should have taken better care of myself, and the ever-painful, 'you got what you deserved.'
Two people stayed by my side through it all.
My best friend, roommate and separated-at-birth-on-a-one-year-delay twin, Mallory (who will get her own post later)...and my brother, who was (and is) the biggest surprise of it all.
He told me he loved me.
(He loves me, he reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally loves me!)
And I'm thankful for that.
p.s. I love you too :)
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