My brother sent me a song title with a simple "great song" note attached. In the moment I forgot about it because I'm busy and who has time for songs. But then later, in the kitchen singing along to my iPod as I attempted to put something together for us to fill our bellies with, I remembered said song and looked it up and paid the ninety-nine because if he recommended it it can't be THAT bad and if it was I could be all like "you owe me a dollar!"
So I waited for an eternity for it to download (and now I'm remembering a day when I had to wait to go to Walmart to buy a whole cd just to hear one song and feeling kinda dumb with my impatience!) and I gave it a listen. As tears sprang to my eyes, I thought of my brothers and how they've always been good at that. Making me cry. Whether a good cry or bad, dang those boys. They know me and get me and can hurt me and heal me all in their own. Cause that's what brothers do. And sisters. Even step (cause after 20 yrs, they don't feel much like step.) And I was reminded of a conversation I had last week with a girl about only children. They have one and because I'm opinionated and can't keep my mouth shut, I had to tell her why I think she should have more. And I told her about my fear of my husband and I dying and leaving them alone and how at least they wouldn't be alone, they'd have each other. And she misunderstood and reminded me of the death of her father and I immediately freaked because I hadn't meant to hurt her or be mean (open mouth, insert foot!) I just meant that I wouldn't give anything for my brothers or sisters. Because they know my story. The real story. The deep, sometimes hurtful story. They know the silly stories and the sad stories and the dumb stories. They know it all. Like no one else on the planet does. And even though as children we fought like crazy people and I constantly complained about them, I wouldn't take all the money in the world for them.
Oh and the song...Murder in the City by Avett Brothers. You're welcome.