I talk a lot.
I mean, obviously, right? I write a "blog" now.
It's a blessing and a curse, honestly. I can fill a room full of strangers with ample discussion, but I also have a tendency to gloss over what's important.
Addiction, in particular, is something I tend to skim right past.
I don't talk enough about the struggle, and I sure as hell don't talk enough about the success. I'm incredibly guilty of this. I take these successes for granted literally every day.
In every aspect of my life, I am touched by addiction. At work, with peers, with family. There are dates on my calendar marked for mourning. It's morbid, which is probably why I don't easily digest it, and why we don't often discuss it. With so much loss, one would think practicing gratitude would be natural - reminders to myself to take inventory of the absolute wealth of love that I have in my life. And sometimes I do. Sometimes, I wake up, sip my morning coffee, and smile about the human beings in my life. But not enough.
I don't always tell those I love just how much I love them, or how purely excited I am to have them in my life.
I don't always mark the calendar for celebrations. And in a year like this - we need to.
So earlier this year, when my eldest brother asked me to give him this year's chip, commemorating seven years of sobriety, I cried in line at the bank. I physically had to leave, regroup in my car, and return to the line inside. I could not wait to get to tell a room full of people how much I love having Ian in my life.
I've had a speech written in my iPhone notes for the past eleven months.
The last few weeks I have been wallowing a lot over all of the things Covid has "taken" from me. Visits with friends, trips to see family, and, most-notably, the chance to give this man this very special chip.
The chance to celebrate on January 3rd.
So I've decided that rather than allowing that to be something I mourn, I'm taking it as an opportunity to celebrate - the more the merrier (virtually speaking).
Ian,
If someone had asked seven years ago about you, I wouldn't have really had much to say, unfortunately. I probably would have said that you lived in a different city, with different people in your life, and having a fourteen year age gap didn't help make us any closer.
I would see you at Christmas, Easter, or Father's Day, exchange hugs and stories from our respective childhoods (again, fourteen year age gap), and see you in a few months at the next holiday.
You would meet my boyfriend, sit on his lap, and scare the shit out of him. And you'd hear that story at a dinner ten years later.
Today is so much different.
Today, I get the opportunity to light up when asked about you.
I get to talk about dinner at your house last week, and how you make the best gluten free food.
How you met the love of your life, and traveled to Jamaica to celebrate.
How you're the best uncle to our nephews.
How you help me celebrate my little victories, and mourn my biggest losses.
How you've become such a massive part of my life, where seven years ago there was a hole.
So often when I see someone getting a chip, the recipient comes up and says thank you. But today I want to be the one to say thanks. Thank you for your strength in this fight. Thank you for your wisdom in helping others. Thank you for being a Lynch Pin in our family - for helping us all to laugh. And thank you for the opportunity to continue to be your little sister.
Over the past seven years, what I am most grateful for is that opportunity - to be reintroduced to my oldest brother, and to cultivate this relationship.
And because of these last seven years, I also have the opportunity to see the potential in others. Because if you knew this man seven years ago, you know "potential" (pause for laughter).
Because of the program, because of the people, because of the last seven years, I not only have an oldest brother, but I have this one. And this one is the one I need. Ian is the oldest brother my whole family needs.
Because of the last seven years, I get to cry saying this, and I get to be made fun of for the next seven. Thank you, Ian. I am not only proud, but elated to have you be my oldest brother.
And most of all, I love you.
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