Remember this post from this past February, where I told you about how my older brother was getting married to his high school sweetheart on Valentine’s Day, after 30 years apart?
She and I bonded like crazy. Every time I saw them, the first words out of her mouth were, “Hi, sister!” As someone whose blood sister disowned me when I left her religion, that felt really good. I was pretty excited. Junior Vox and she bonded, too. JV said she was her favorite aunt. We stayed with them over spring break and had a great time. My brother has never been so happy.
When we went to Colorado for Mr. Vox’s sister’s husband’s funeral (our brother-in-law on Mr. Vox’s side) in September, my brother’s wife wasn’t there. He said she was up here to work on a short sale for her house. I thought it was weird that they didn’t mention it before we got in to town, but whatever. When we got back from the funeral, I texted her several times to see if she wanted to come over for dinner, or meet JV and I for pedicures. I never got a reply.
Then my brother quit answering the phone. I didn’t get a reply to the e-mails I sent him, and let me tell you–by then my radar was going crazy. I asked my dad, and he lied as best he could and said my brother was just really busy with work. I finally called bullshit. The night after my dad fell in the garbage can, I asked Dad if he’d told my brother about it yet. He hadn’t, and I said, “You need to call him, and you tell him he needs to call me and tell me what the fuck is going on ASAP.” Dad said he’d been sworn to secrecy by my brother, and when my brother called me that night, he said his wife had been here in Boise since early September. He wouldn’t say what had happened, only that, “This is her thing. I will not take any responsibility for this.” I asked if she was coming back, and he said he didn’t know.
That was about a month ago. She’s still not home. I fucking hate this. My brother and I love each other very much, and I want so badly for him to be happy. He was in a terrible accident when he was 21 and he’s in a wheelchair, and because of his injuries he’s got a much shorter life expectancy than the rest of us. When he was injured, his doctors said he could figure on reaching his mid-fifties. He’s 48 now. I wanted him to have the love of his life next to him for the time he has left. I wanted it to be her; I wanted this to be forever for him.
Why the fuck didn’t this work out? It seems like some cruel joke. I hate it.