Please tell me you love me, I plead through the phone.
With him in jail and not yet diagnosed my days are yearning for a phone call with my brother that I had two weeks ago.
Please, I miss you so much…I love you so much.
NO, I don’t lie, he speaks sternly, I am not sure that I love you and I’m not going to lie.
I scroll through texts from the past months, "I’ll always be here for you Bria, never stress, I love you."
I hold on and scream my heart out so quietly that I don’t alarm my toddler. I smile and greet guests and pretend I’m having a great day because they don’t understand. How did I go so long so unaware about this illness? How can something so huge go so unnoticed to the everyday citizen? Why aren’t we louder? Why don’t the rest who aren’t affected understand?
One day your at home laughing till you cry, teaching each other how to cook, praying our hearts out at church and the next day you don’t know your own name, the next day everyone you love becomes an enemy. The next day my body goes in shock and falls into a puddle of my own helpless tears. How? Why?
All of this research, all of these tears! All of these anticipated phone calls. We must be able to do something, there’s got to be something instead of crying till I want throw up. So I pray, I pray that the reason become clear, what new organization, what volunteering, what degree? What can I do, for the glory of our God to be seen through this awful terrifying thing and where do I sign up.
I’ll take it from you any day , brother, my best friend for you to live a life you choose because I love you and I know you love me even when I don’t hear it…