I remember the first and last time I saw you. You were so small the first time, and pretty small for the last time too. Both times were on your birthday, the day you were born and the day you turned 5.
When Mom told me that she was going to have a baby, and I was so excited. I didn't understand that meant that I would have to start taking care of a baby soon. I was only 6 but I don't blame you for it. I liked raising you.
I don't think it was fair that we got separated when we were thrown into foster care. I've been so fucking angry about it for the past 6 years. My therapist doesn't like that I've been so fucking angry, and I tell him I wouldn't be so angry if I could just talk to you, and he said this stupid journal was the next best thing.
I hope at some point I won't need this journal, that I'll be able to see you again and have you in my life again. I miss you so fucking much.
-T
I feel like at this point I'd probably have to reintroduce myself to you. I don't think you'd remember me.
I'm your brother, though you used to call me Da all the time. I think you were trying to say dad, and I like that thought.
I'm 6 years older than you, I was born in June, I like music, mythology, reading about history, the color pink, soft sweaters and lilacs.
I'm an angry 17 year old. Like super angry. I've been kicked out of 6 foster homes because of it, 3 group homes and counting. I'm now just going to be at impatient until I turn 18. Psych wards suck ass by the way.
Every morning when I wake up they make me meditate to think about the things that make me so angry, and why they make me so angry. The main one is losing you but thinking about that makes me cry. So I guess I'm really angry and really sad.
-T
I don't think you remember this but I do, when you were younger your favorite song was a fucking Bo Burnham song.
I thought his vines were super funny, so I started listening to his music. I was always around you taking care of you, so you listened too. Then at some point anytime the song came on you would start dancing. And I'm not gonna tell a 3 year old to stop dancing to Bo Burnham, because that's funny as fuck, so you just loved it.
At one point you wouldn't go to sleep without listening to it once, like it was a lullaby of sorts. God any sane parent would hate me for doing that, but our parents are really sane are they?
I still love listening to Bo Burnham
-T
I think about you more than I'd ever actually admit to anyone. Of course the doctors and nurses and therapists all fucking know that I think about you a lot, but I don't go around telling them that.
When I was younger I had a foster brother who told me to "just get over you" and it's "not like you'll ever remember me" and then some other shit about how you're not my son.
I broke his nose in response.
I don't talk to others about you now, but I still think about you a lot.
-T
I was only 6 when you were born so I was 6 years old when I learned how to make a bottle. We had formula at first but after a while our parents decided it was too expensive so when you were like 8 months old they switched you to milk.
And I remember the amount of times I would heat up a bottle in the microwave for you. We didn't have one of those baby swings so I made one out of a blanket. You would just sit there, staring up at me from this scooby doo blanket I turned into a sling.
I never let both of my hands off of you anyway. I didn't trust the blanket to hold you, I guess it was more to just keep you warm. But I learned how to make bottles one handed.
My favorite spot to sit with you was this big armchair we had. It was old, half the foam was spilling out of the cushions, there was cig burns all over it, but it had good arm rests for me to prop my arms up on.
At some point I had bribed some of the druggies mom and dad brought home with 5$ and a slice of pizza to help me move it into our room, just so it wasn't in the living room. Our room was safe, there was a lock on the door and I could move the bookshelf in front of the door if I needed.
I never wanted anything to happen to you.
-T
Growing up I didn't go to school. I wanted to, but having druggie parents meant they didn't care. I did my best to learn on my own, Sesame Street taught me a good amount.
But I knew when you were small that I had to be able to teach you. I asked neighbors for any books their kids out grew and I tried to teach myself so I could teach you.
The day you were able to write your own name at 3 years old is the day I truly felt proud of us. I felt like you were so smart, and I felt like maybe I wasn't doing so bad.
I still have one of the pieces of paper where you had practiced scribbling your name all over it.
-T
