Never the Same Love Twice

So yeah, I totally did look at my brother’s girlfriend’s blog after she linked it on Facebook. Can you blame me?

And… it’s adorable. For one thing, the girl is witty and contemplative. But on a more meaningful note, whenever she references or talks about my brother, you can *hear* the love she has for him. It radiates from every word she says about him.

I am just in awe. So grateful and pleased that my brother has found someone so early in his life that wholeheartedly loves him just the way he is.

Maybe I’m a little jealous.

But then it got me thinking.

My brother is blessed, but I have been too.

At my brother’s age, I found someone who changed my life irrevocably. Someone, albeit someone was not the right person for me, who showed me what it meant to look into another person’s soul and love every little bit of him. Despite the problems with him and with us, that love was powerful enough to overwhelm it all.

Then I went to college and loved a good man. Again, not the right one for me. But I spent two years with someone who made me laugh, let me cry on his shoulder, and tried to help me in any way he could. And he showed me what a good relationship has the potential to be: a partnership of two individuals who love each other. Two people who respect and admire each other, and are willing to lay aside their differences for the pleasure of being together.

And then in this last year alone… how my love has dazzled me. Sometimes you meet someone and everything just clicks. And you don’t have to hide any part of yourself because you know this person will listen, never judging. And maybe that person will love you all the more for it, for revealing the deepest, darkest parts of you.

I was lucky enough to fall in love with my best friend, and miracle of miracles, she loved me back. For whatever god-knows-what reason, she manages to see me for who I truly am… and loves me.

Loves me enough to pick up the phone when I call her in the middle of the night, to muddle her way through shitty internet connections so we can have a conversation, to send me poetry or pictures that remind her of me, to attempt to continue the bond between us even though we’re miles apart.

And maybe that’s amazing.

To answer your question, no, I don’t know where this is headed. For that matter, I don’t know where *I’m* headed. That’s not the point.

So what if I have no idea what my future holds. Who the fuck cares if I’m single. I have been, and continue to be blessed by the love in my life.

My love life bears no similarities to my brother’s. And once I saw past the petty jealousy of that fact, once I saw what is really there, it’s so easy to be grateful for this life of mine and the love it contained, contains, and will contain.

“There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

Responsibility

I am the oldest child and that means I have responsibilities I never signed up for. It means that I work hard in school and plan my schedule to make sure that my parents can take care of my brothers and sister. It means I work all summer long to support myself, so that money that could have gone to me can go to a sibling who needs it. Not to me. I can handle things on my own.

It means that cleaning the house on Sunday was more important than helping me with rental applications. It means that I will pay every single cent out of my own pocket—and that the one purchase you did help me make is held over my head time and time again.

It means that purchase—that lovely car that I absolutely could not afford on my own-- is treated as family property and is only viewed as “my car” when it is convenient. You took my car on Saturday without even telling me. Why? Why couldn’t you have just called and asked me?

Because what’s mine is yours even if I don’t want to give it. Because I have responsibilities. And those responsibilities are to the family and not to me.

Granted, these are things that I should be doing. It’s great that I’ll pay for school on my own, that I earn my own money, that I’m essentially self-supporting. Fine. Great. Thank you. But now let’s talk about the things that aren’t so great, the things that aren’t so fair or right.

I worked eight and a half hours today. Just as much as either of you. And then I drove home and you left. So I made dinner.  And I got the kids ready for bed, mediated their fights. I guess I’m sorry I didn’t have them in bed by eight-thirty, but since when have they EVER had a consistent bedtime? I had no idea when you were coming home. I figured it’d be worth it to see if you’d make it home in time to say goodnight to them.

Being the oldest means always thinking of how your actions affect the people around you. It means I’m the one who remembers birthdays and anniversaries and buys the gifts while signing the card from all of us. It means that I couldn’t go have a drink with my best friend tonight if I wanted to—I had to make sure it didn’t interfere with familial obligations. It means that I’m not allowed to be cranky for one goddamned second and snap at any sibling for fear of the impact it will have on them and their development. It means that I am allowed to be the second mother—until you disagree with me or notice the parental role I have.

And it’s fine. It’s all fine. They’re my brothers and sisters. And you’re my parents. I love you. And I do want to do everything I can to help you. All of you.

All I ask for in return is that you acknowledge that I play a huge, important role in this family. You spend next to no money on me because I support myself. I watch your children when you want me to. I pick babies up from daycare, go home early on snowdays, cook dinner when you’re not here, change(d) diapers, rocked babies until they fell asleep, read bedtime stories, make sure plans are set for holidays, arrange presents, live outside my fucking house, carpool, give up museums and restaurants, and so many more countless, little, daily things.

And tonight, because you didn’t tell me when your children should be in bed, I was ignored. Which is typical.

The thing about responsibility is, you’re not supposed to do them to earn thanks or acknowledgment. A responsibility is something you have to and should do. It can be defined as something “within one’s power to accomplish.” Responsibilities are only really noticed when they’re not accomplished. When someone doesn’t live up to them. They didn’t accomplish what was within their power.

And that generally works, because the other part of responsibility is that, 90% of the time, they’re something that individuals sign up for out of their own free will. You know how much you can take on, or you just simply know what you want to do. And so you shouldn’t expect thanks for that. If you can accomplish something, something you said you’d accomplish, it shouldn’t be necessary to be praised for that effort.

But what about the responsibility that you don’t sign up for? The responsibility that was heaved upon you because of the choices made by others. Heaved upon you without a second thought…  Choices that you had no say in. Your say wasn’t even considered. But that responsibility is there, and the same rules apply as if you’d willingly signed up for the obligations. Even though you didn’t.

I do a lot. And it’s even hard to admit that, to myself, because it’s been hammered into me, time and time again that “this is what I do. This is what I have to do.”

It’s my responsibility.

But I do so fucking much and it is not openly appreciated or even oftentimes acknowledged.

So where does that leave me? What do I do?

I know, I know. I do my responsibility. 

I love you and I will probably always love you but secretly I'm a little bit glad you're leaving because the more time we spend together the more I want to make really bad decisions. 

The problem is we could have had something great but we can't now because of our fucking history and because of the way you acted. Sorry sweetheart, but it really is your fault.

I love you and I wish I could be with you but I'm not going to be with someone who couldn't admit how he felt about me, someone who was embarrassed of how he felt about me, someone who degraded me to everyone but me. 

That's not okay and as much as I want to resent my friends for reminding me of that fact, it's the best thing they could do for me right now. Because you're not okay and being with you would signify a lot that I don't want to be. 

I love you. 

But that doesn't mean any more than that.