Waves Fall 2004 Newsletter

...I knew that God had placed them there as warring angels...who believed in God and loved him enough
to give their lives to his service. -- The Awakening Heart by Betty J. Eadie, p. 88

September, 2004

W.A.V.E.S. Newsletter

Fall Edition

Embraced by the Light

Prayers

My Brother (A Story)

Posted by Sharon Rose Ruesga on August 28, 2004

I have a brother. His name is David.

From the first moment I learned of his imminent arrival, I knew he was going to be special to me. Something in my heart leapt at the knowledge that this boy was about to be born. I even remember the dress my mother was wearing the day she told me...

I took over my brother's care as soon as he came home from the hospital, or at least it seemed that way. It wasn't because my mother couldn't or didn't; she was always an excellent nurturer. It was that I wanted to be his caretaker from the beginning. I was not quite seven years old then.

He and I did everything together. We talked about everything under the sun. Whatever I learned, I promptly taught him. Whatever he needed to know, he quickly asked me. We were companions. When I got old enough to begin dating, I used to take him with me on most of my dates. Maybe not in the beginning, on the first one or two, but thereafter I did. My sister, who is two years older than me, used to shake her head in amazement and say, "You should make Mom and Dad pay you for doing that."

Pay me? For what? For love?

When David was 14, I moved to California. He accompanied me on the trip across the country. He was my navigator and my friend. It took us four days to travel the two thousand or so miles. We were in no hurry. It was an adventure the two of us would never share again.

After I left my family home, David and I began to drift apart. My family kept telling me that he was in trouble, was suffering from some deep sorrow. They said that his pain was due to my absence. When I would ask him about it, he would deny it, saying the others didn't know what he was thinking, so I let it go. I believed he knew his own heart, and if he said he was not hurting, then it must be so. I noticed, however, that whenever I came to visit, he would usually make himself scarce. Sometimes I would only see him for a few moments once a year. I was hurt and bewildered by his behavior.

Years later, after he had been married for awhile, his wife called me one day and got straight to the point. "Sharon," she said, "I am having trouble communicating with your brother, and I think it is because he has never gotten over you. I need help. He won't let me close to him, and I believe it is because he was so hurt when you left that he just closed up his heart."

I was stunned. Why hadn't he told me? Why did he let me think that my love was not a necessity for him? I sat down and wrote him a letter. I poured out my heart. I apologized for leaving him. I explained why I felt I had to. I said everything I had to say until I was completely emptied out. He never responded to the letter. Weeks went by, then months. Nothing. I began to fear that I had gone too far, had said too much, had required too deep a response. I fretted and worried. I even felt angry and irritated. Why didn't he at least acknowledge the letter in some way?

Then my mother called me one day and told me that David had told her about the letter and had cried while telling her about it. "Don't worry, honey," she said. "He loved your letter; he just didn't know how to tell you."

Following this, I began to send cards and call periodically. David and I talked of many things -- surface chatter initially, then deeper issues. I began to notice a pattern emerging: David would get very quiet in the middle of our conversations. He wouldn't answer, wouldn't speak. "David?" I would say. "Are you there? What's wrong?" Finally it would dawn on me...he was weeping. Eventually he confessed that, when I left, he closed down a part of himself. It was easier that way, less painful. He said he preferred to stay away from me entirely than to see me for a short while, feel again the depth of our connection, and then have to release me one more time. It hurt too much, he said. It was too painful.

The tears continued as we kept talking, and the wounds slowly began to heal. I began to notice another pattern taking form in our conversations: We would talk for three hours nearly every time we spoke. The first hour was spent with trivial things...how's the job, how's the garden, what did the doctor say? The second hour we would move into the real reason one of us had called. Barriers shifted; walls came down. And the third hour was what we both had been waiting for: pure soul communion. There was no place we could not journey to without finding satisfaction and completion. David told me not too long ago that he cannot talk to me without crying at least once. I felt very concerned that this was a hardship on him and that maybe I should alter my method of communication. His reply? "Sharon, do not ever stop being yourself. I need this. I need to remember how to feel and how to respond to others on this level. It's hard for me at first because I am surrounded by people who do not go to the depths that you do, but I need this. And I want it. Don't stop being you."

When I see my brother now, there is often a period of reacquaintance that we have to go through, kind of like our conversations. The first hug is usually more of a pat, pat, tap, tap kind of thing. Not very satisfying. But I just keep presenting myself until I feel the gap closing between us. And I know when he's ready. I can see it in his eyes. He will turn and look at me, and with a merry twinkle shining down on my face, he will draw me into his embrace. And then I am at peace. I have found my brother. His gentle gruffness kind of reminds me of a grizzly bear. He is so much bigger than me. I feel like a little butterfly flitting around on his outstretched paw, which he gently closes around me, holding me like I am his treasure and he is my love.

I went to visit my family this past July and spent a great deal of time with my brother and his beautiful family. My son, Andrew, and I are very close, kind of like David and I are. He kept watching David interact with me. He didn't say much, but I could tell something was bothering him. Finally, as we sat down to a meal my mother had prepared, my son said very firmly, "Mommy, I want you to sit here by me for dinner, not next to David." David heard this and, with his eyes full of laughter and his voice tender-soft, he said, "Andrew, your mommy was my mommy first. She is such a good mother to you because she practiced on me."

Andrew thought about this for a moment and then replied, "Well, ha! You were the ‘practicer’. But I saved my mommy's life (another story). So...so there!"

How we laughed.

O David! My David. My brother, my son. My friend.

How I love thee.

Warring Angel Volunteers on Earth, (WAVES) is acknowledged as a trademark of Betty J. Eadie