The other week I had a hard time getting time + energy + not requiring rest at the same time so I could grocery shop. Talked about the logistics with my mum, wanting to vent and get her ideas too. She told me she would do the shopping for me, whilst I was at work, and packed it up into my kitchen (spare key). And I know it's no biggie to her because I would do the same for her & dad if I could, but fuck it feels big to recieve.
She bought me a super big bag of frozen peas & corn & bell-pepper mix. I don't remember writing that on the list (I might have). But she knows I love peas and corn and that I keep mostly frozen veg at home so it can't go bad.
That bag feels like the magnitude of her love for me. Just in my freezer. Being know, being valued.
Today my little brother was going to the shopping centre after work, to get his phone repaired. Picked me (& mom) up on the way because I had talked about needing new shoes.
I tried some on, liked a few, planned to think them over and order online later, but considered buying a pair right here. So at our coffee-break refuel I started taking through the price (almost €200), and whether I could justify spending that today (only have health for working 30-40% instead of my regular 50-60%, so I naturally earn less now). Asked if they thought dad have a birthday present for me yet, or if I could ask him to gift the money for this, because dad has the most leftover salary each month. At which my brother voluenteered to make the shoes his birthday gift to me. Full price, even though I would have been extremely happy for a part of the sum.
Since getting his current job, which is well paying and something he likes doing, he just spends money on all of us others. Not recklessly, but when and because he can afford it. Like it's nothing. Like it's such an obvious thing we don't even have to show gratitude for it. Last year he bought me a hiking-fleece for my birthday - because I am cold af and trying to bulk on warm clothes. I have worn it all autumn and all winter and half the spring. It's amazing. It looks expensive. It feels like how much my youngest (and for a long time, least connected) brother knows and loves me.
When I first moved out on my own, I went to study 5 hours away from my parnets' home. Not because I wanted the distance, but because I wanted a rare course. Looking into the student loan finances, my dad made me a deal. He would pay half my rent, so I wouldn't have to take out the full loan for a while. Less debt, and a little more possible time to study with a loan. And he did, for the two years I went there.
Not only that, but he drove me home from visiting them SO many times. A full day spent on getting me home, and then driving himself home again, put of his two day weekends. Never a complaint about it, or allowing me to pay for gas or something (but I was allowed to feed him at my place before he turned back). Just so I could avoid paying for train tickets and dealing with hours of waiting between the trains and carrying my big heavy bags.
This was before my pains got big. Before we actually knew I am chronically ill in any way. Before I had symptoms that control my days.
My first brother currently lives the furthest away from our parents, by far. He drives over here almost every second weekend, for one purpose or the other, or the third. Most times we do full-family dinners then, and he will come pick me up by car. I have a 20 min walk, and he has done a 1,5 hour drive to get here, and I live on the other side of town.
But he drives the extra distance to pick me up, all by his own accord, every time he resonably can. And drives me back home even if he has already stayed longer than his sleep schedule allows. Like it's as natural as brushing his teeth before bed.
And if he can't drive me back home, mum does. Or dad. Or our youngest brother. Even most times when I say I can walk home just fine.
And I just... I do have an ache in me, that I - the eldest - cannot care for my brothers like this. But I am so incredibly grateful to have siblings and parents that care for me this way, of helping out as the most natural thing in the world.
Of insisting to pay because they earn much better. Of showing up to help. Of being my personal drivers and my bag carriers. Of giving 0 downwards comments when I am exhausted at the dinner table and barely there mentally. Of laughing when I say stupid stuff because of brain fog.
I try to give it back in the small shapes I can, because I wish so much I didn't need all this help from those I want to care for. I want to be the strong Responsible Eldest Child who can help their ailing and aging parents, and support their younger siblings in how to be a good adult. Helped and helping in equal balance.
But I am not. I am the sickly and weak third. Medicated passenger princess viscount. The Poor Artist who's had to surrender and just be Poor.
And I am so overwhelmingly fucking grateful that I have this family around me for it.
I hope that on some cosmic, philosophical plane, I can end up deserving them all.
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