When I was 13, I was blessed with a baby brother. Sure, some days I wasn’t too pleased as a teenager to be sharing a home with a “terrible two,” but just like a mother of a child, you grow to love this tiny little person so crazy-fierce. Which is often how I feel about my baby brother (and the sister who followed); as if I’m a second mother of sorts.
The reality of course is that I’m closer in spirit to a grandmother than a mother because, you the know the old saying, it was all fun and no responsibility. But regardless, when there is a gap of this great of years, you’ve been through it all with them — birth, diapers, childhood, adolescence, and now adulthood.
So you see, although he’s all grown up, I can still fly right into a “mamma bear” maelstrom of emotion. And I’ve been feeling a lot of emotion these days. Because of this:
April and Adham found me sprawled inside the wreckage with blood pouring out of my head and moaning unintelligibly. I must have momentarily lost motor abilities, as my attempts to get up pathetically failed. April says she’ll never get that image out of her head, and I don’t envy her the memory.
He and a group of travellers were just in a terrible accident in Laos. And thankfully, thankfully, thankfully he is okay. You can read the rest of his tale on his blog Adam in Asia.
Oh, these babies, why do they have to grow up?
Me, as a teenager, with my "babies."
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