Bittersweet Regards

I watch the video with tears dripping in my lap. I am smiling. Eyes that look like mine are shining from the sweet face of my younger sister. She has trimmed the tree with her new love.

They send a video holiday greeting to me via email. She cannot let go of his hand long enough for Dad to zoom in on the tree. She is in love.
I watch the video again, this time listening for the voices of my mother and father. My dad, the most technologically impaired individual I have ever met, is once again in charge of the camera - my mom coaching him along. The tree is in the same spot. There is an ornament with my name and the date of my birth just over the right shoulder of my sister. I know that she hung it in the front on purpose. I know that she misses my brother the same way and that a similar ornament of his is there in the front, too. I know that I miss home so badly sometimes that I cannot write or call because it makes things that much harder. Out of sight, out of mind.

I see the way she giggles as he asks her to step from the tree. She doesn't hear him at first, although he is speaking clearly. It's not that he's mumbling - it's that she can't hear him over the roar of her own young heart. She is in love.

I found myself looking at the new couple, envious of their hand holding. "I wish I had a boyfriend," I heard myself whisper, "with me."

I know love now like hurting. I know love like 800 miles makes his strong hugs a memory. I know love like more than touch - more than talk - more than his scent. I know love now like hurting. Not heartbreak. Heartbreak will be reserved for loss; but love like longing. I wonder sometimes how long I will take this pain -- how long I will walk New York avenues while my heart throbs -- how long until I feel love like numbness. And I wonder sometimes about his pain threshold. Wonder if he can handle this pain any better than the time he let me pluck his eyebrows... of course, that had something to do with pride as well.

I watch the video one more time. They look so fresh with their new happiness. I look forward to Christmas, when I can go home and meet this new boy, listen to my dad make corny jokes for his benefit, hold the hand of my own love and reciprocate the fresh love of the youngsters with him. I don't want anything this year but a way to be together; but I've found that Santa can't work miracles, so I'll ask for a winter coat instead... imagine that as I slip my arms into it's thick sleeves that he is holding me, zipping his arms around me - my imagination the only thing keeping me going.