Oh brother

I grew up with four brothers. Two of them were the meanest people alive and the younger two were pretty sweet, unless commanded to behave differently by one of the older brothers (usually the eldest).

They loved to pick on me because I was always prepared to scream and cry. My mom was constantly telling me that they do it for the reaction and I was constantly resenting her for not just being on my side and telling them how horrible they were and that she would never leave me unattended with them again.

As I have gotten older the constant pestering has not stopped. It's things like being duct taped, thrown in snow, ice cubes down the back of your shirt, whatever. I entirely blame my brothers on my strange dating life. If a guy isn't tormenting me and trying to find new ways to laugh at my expense..I don't think he really likes me. Or he's girly.

Anyway, despite the fact that my parents raised 4 demons, I know my dumb brothers love me (and they would hate me for saying that and deny it until they are dead).
I know they love me because of this...


A few days before my trip was over I finally got the courage to venture out to see where Max was buried. I didn't think I was going to cry but when I saw the rocks placed the way they were it made me think about the brothers that dug the hole and buried Max and the brother that went outside and swept off snow from the rocks when I got to town so that I could go see it.

I got choked up thinking about Max but the thing that hit me the most was thinking about the people that took me into account to make sure that he had a proper burial, even if all it did was give them more jokes like saying "it's Max's head" as I go to open a Christmas present.