There is a fine line between dealing with emotions and wallowing ... and I am hoping not to cross it. I also don't want this space to turn into a grief journal, but this is where I am living just now.
When my brother died, what was almost immediately apparent to me was that I had lost, through his death, my biggest support and the strongest tether I have to my family. I always felt like my brother knew me -- idiosyncrasies, warts, and all, and truly loved me. I felt like he respected my opinions, was proud of my accomplishments, and support my decisions whatever they might be. This is not to say that we agreed on everything or that we were the kind of siblings that checked in with each other a lot. Over the years, he came to my rescue, as only big brothers can, many times. Always in his quiet and determined way; never in a flashy, ooh look at me and give me credit kind of way.
I could enumerate, but what difference does it make now to count or recount? He was always there, in my corner, rooting for me and ready to spring into action should I need him.
So, what does this have to with "toughie" or revisiting it?
Yeah, so, the other thing that is important to note about my brother is that he was the kind of person who supported you without holding you back. Even more, he was the kind of person that carefully but enthusiastically pushed you to do more. There was a safety in the way he pushed you to the edge and talked you into jumping.
It seems impossible and perhaps incomprehensible, but there it is. He loved adventure, and despite his proclivity for protectiveness, he also wanted you to experience as much as possible.
I remember the sparkle in his eyes when I told him I wanted to study abroad as a high schooler. By then I knew he was the person I should tell -- he would more than understand, he would encourage, smooth out the rough edges if necessary and beam with pride at the thought.
If he thought you could accomplish something, he would push with abandon, coax, cajole, and never feel bitter or resentful that he hadn't had that opportunity. Perhaps it is why he lived life to the fullest -- so as to never need to regret or resent the lives of others.
This was not a tension for him -- to be protective and at the same time to push you to take that step you might be otherwise afraid to take.
There were many part of my childhood that led me to take the stance my father calls "Toughie" -- he says it proudly, too, exhorting me whenever I am low to remember, I am a toughie. That is, I can handle it.
I don't know how my dad feels about the rest of my siblings with regard to toughie-ness. I only know the responsibility I feel for the well being of my younger siblings, even now that we are grown adults. And I know the way they lean on my when then need to. It feels like they were not subject to the same toughie lessons that I was.
The summer
before my younger brother was born, my mom and dad and brother took a trip together -- my sister had been invited on a family trip with her friend. And on that trip, is the first real memory I have of the push/pull with my brother.
He was careful to make me feel safe while he simultaneously insisted that I take leaps beyond my comfort zone. Just the two of us, probably for the first time in our lives. He had never had to be the responsible one -- only the fun older brother. Given the opportunity to rule over me, he decided to use it as a chance to toughen me up, Greg-style.
He said, let's get as close as we can to edge for the picture. And when shaking like a leaf I only made it so far, he pulled me in and sat me on his bended knee. Somewhere is the picture, me looking still somewhat scared, him beaming; me safe with my big brother's arm around me.
That same trip he figured out how to get me to walk the fence of the big scary pigs so I could collect the mulberries weighing down the tree in the far corner of the pen. Each time, you could read these scenes as Greg getting his way, but embedded was his ethos of adventure and taking that step outside the comfort zone that he was passing on to me.
It was another side of "toughie" -- she is not just independent and able to take care of herself, she is also a calculated risk-taker, not held back by fear or timidity. From the outside, she might be viewed as not needing others. And/or, she might be viewed as someone who can provide help and support -- one who can be leaned on.
In times of trouble, folks rely on her. But where can she turn for support?
This is the complicating factor. With my brother, I never had to worry about asking him for help -- he often intuited needs and offered -- or just knowing that I could call him if I needed to do gave me a sense of ease in the world -- it allowed toughie to exist in a way.
Now, I see, though, that Toughie is so used to being called upon to help that she has a hard time asking for help.
With the help of the therapist, I am taking on this issue pretty seriously. How do I embrace the lovely qualities of "Toughie" while still asking for help when I need it. It is an important part of connecting to others -- and that oh so elusive vulnerability.
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