I'll Love You More Than Anybody Can

Today, I drove from Huntsville back to my sister’s house after only having left here about 24 hours prior. She needs me. Between me and our baby brother, we managed to keep her covered though. And I will be here for at least two nights. She needs me.  I don’t really hate being needed.

Yesterday before I left, I cleaned and washed and refilled the litter box, I did dishes, checked her mail, picked up her prescription from her orthopedist, made her the good coffee, and promised to come back as soon as I could. I almost didn’t go. The thought of leaving her alone didn’t make me feel guilty, I just felt really needed. She was fine.

Today, I took her prescription to her work pharmacy, waited for them to fill it, drove back to her house, emptied the dishwasher, made cookies with the kids, having to produce a recipe with the few baking ingredients at hand, made dinner for the kids and then dinner for us because apparently the kids won’t eat what we eat. I’m glad I dodged that bullet, and ordered a grocery delivery for her for tomorrow. For all of us.

I entertained the boy, 6, for hours, including using him as a free weights for a little workout and throwing him around just to hear him squeal in delight. While I was finishing with the adult dinner, the kids fell asleep with my sister. I took the boy to bed after removing the sheets and laying mattress protectors.

I finished the dinner dishes and started the dishwasher again. I changed into my pajamas, washed my face, flossed and was about to crash in my niece’s room when I was compelled to write.

It has been wonderful to be needed. And exhausting. It’s been wonderful to be with the kids and my sister. My one pang of guilt today was feeling as if I have missed so much and realizing it’s because I have. The boy is my own boy made again. Carrying him to bed, dead asleep in my arms with his little blond head on my shoulder, I missed all little boys. I have done for a while now.

He looks a little like me when he’s feeling shy or clever. But he looks so much like a fairer version of mine, with a pointier chin and something foreign in the shape of his mouth, but that’s still where he looks most like me when he does.

But I also missed the girl. She’s so much like me, in her habits and personality it hurts. I knew it, and it’s all confirmed at every turn. She’s smart and quiet and hears everything and understands almost everything she hears. Her bed is littered with stuffies, bits of paper, packs of crayons, coloring books, toys I cannot identify. Her nightstand contains her hair brush, some crumpled dollar bills, books, all shoved together in this mass of her.  She doesn’t resemble me much because she could not look more like her mother or our other, now adult niece. Her freckles and her big, unbelievably expressive, intelligent eyes, and even the way she wears her hair looks like them.

I so look forward to waking up tomorrow and making the good coffee. There is apparently to be a petting zoo in the neighborhood tomorrow, because holy suburban over-achiever mom down the block. I’ll take the kids. My sister physically cannot. She did well to come downstairs for about half an hour today while the kids ate their mac and cheese and apple slices.

I am happiest in service for some reason. And I love knowing that I am really helpful at this time. My sister keeps thanking me. I suppose it’s partially selfish because this few hours has been the most use I’ve been to anyone in a very long time. No one really needs me anymore. And I need to be needed. I couldn’t help but think about the one time in well over a decade that anyone cooked for me. Not just invited me to a meal, but cooked for me. That’s really not nearly often enough. I hope I get to return that favor in the near future too.

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