Broccoli Brother

Someone I follow on Instagram posted something today about losing her brother —

it was years ago, but the post was just about how the pain never dissipates and you always wonder.

It made me think about how I wish I was already at that place where I can remember some of the good stuff without triggering all the grief.

And then I made broccoli tonight and Mila gave it a shot

and I found myself laughing telling her about how my brother and I weren’t allowed to leave the table if we didn’t finish everything on our plates —

and I ONLY like the tops of the broccoli and he ONLY liked the bottoms.

Man, we thought we were so slick cutting up and sliding each other our non-preferred pieces to beat the system.

And I let myself just sit in that memory,

be present at the dining room table with our 8- and 11-year old selves,

refusing for now to linger on all that came after.

I even ate some stalks.