Raising Ryan

The more I stew about this, the angrier I get. And not the kind of angry where I yell and throw a fit. This is the kind of angry where I have to come to terms with the ways things are. In another life, I was the older sister of a brother who thought he had it all together. He had plans to major in film studies, and he made fun of me for getting bad grades in high school. Ryan always knew better than everyone, and he had the confidence of a UFC prize fighter.

We weren't best friends when our mom died, and he was blindsided by it. Two days before she passed away, we were standing in the kitchen screaming at each other. He told me to leave everything so Mom could fix it, and I told him she might not make it home. Not to finish the laundry. Not to make dinner. Not to dispense advice, smoke a cigarette, laugh with us, or hold us up as we cried. Not ever again. He didn't or maybe couldn't believe me. Had he pretended the cancer was gone? Did he think the aggressive chemo and the drug induced coma were positive signs? We didn't talk about it. We still haven't talked about it almost seven years later.

When she died, the threads that held us together unraveled, and we stopped talking once a day. Then once a week. Then we only spoke on our birthdays. I called him, and he would act as though we had just spoken yesterday. School is going well, I'm finishing up my general courses, I saw Spider Man 2 yesterday. All of these niceties to fill the obligatory ten minutes of birthday talk. Sometimes less. We always ended with, call me sometime or let's get together soon.

Last year, I called him a month after his birthday, and I invited him to dinner. I cooked, we chatted, and so began a new phase of our relationship. Over the next few weeks I get to know this new person my little brother has become without our mother, as an adult. I don't know that I like who he has become. Void of motivation, unsure of what he wants--who isn't sometimes? I understand not having a stable force in your life to guide you to the path you should be on. We all meander and feel depressed sometimes. So Witt and I helped straighten him out. We'll pay for your classes, we'll help you do your laundry so you don't wear filthyclothes, we'll feed you, we'll counsel you, we'll parent you, so you can get your life in order.

Yesterday, he calls and when I ask about class, I get the same reaction I would have on a birthday call. He says he hasn't gone. He's been tired. And I stay calm and explain to him that the deal he agreed to meant that he had to pass his classes. It meant that he needed to work on bettering himself so he could be happier. And instead he hasn't gone to class because he was tired.

So now, I'm stuck with this feeling of anger. How can I proceed? It's taken me almost a year to realize this, but I'm not his mom. I can't fix everything for him and make this go away. Even if I was his mom, I couldn't force him to change. I am tremendously blessed right now with an exciting career, a wonderful home, a beautiful marriage, two glorious dogs, and the hope of starting a family. And the person who grew up with me down the hall is wasting time working at a dead-end job, living in a sparse apartment, avoiding his phone for fear of credit collection. I love him, but I can't jump in his life and fix it. No matter how much he wants me to. No matter how much I sometimes wish I could. But today I don't wish I could at all. I wish I could call my mom.