Thirty years ago, almost, I waited for what seemed forever in a hospital waiting room, covered up with newspapers to keep warm in the middle of November. What’d I wait for? A little white-haired baby named Blake. White hair, I said. It stuck up everywhere. I didn’t want another cousin. I was perfectly fine with Lindsey, his sister. Any more children in the family and I knew that my good thing was over. But…I saw him in his superman outfit, and his yellow CAT hat that he wore everywhere and I loved him more. I changed his diapers, babysat him eternally it seemed like. And then there was the time that I prayed to Jesus that he’d die. Yea….I admitted it. Did you know that B? I have felt bad about it for 28 years. Sorry, B. And then there was the time when he made fun of my styrofoam like scrambled eggs . Then there was the time (there were alot of times) when I drove to mama and daddy’s house and it was like a scene from a movie- there were high schoolers everywhere- including B who had invited everyone over to see him beat up a guy that he didn’t like. Then there was the time he held my hand the whole time at Daddy’s funeral. I love him like a brother- because that’s how we were raised. I’m so proud of him. He’s a nurse in the recovery room that’s going back to school to be a nurse practicioner. He’s my B.
Good luck, sweet Malissa. I guess you know by now that you’ll need it. I love you too. Take good care of him.
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