Day 349: When I was a little girl, I thought Dickens’ Tiny Tim was named after my brother, Tim. Then I read the story and realized that wasn’t possible, but just as Tiny Tim cemented his family, Tim has been the glue of ours. He is the brother closest in age to me, but at 10 years older, he was the role model. Tim is one of my favorite people on this planet. He cared for my brother, Mark, until he passed away. He cared for my parents until their deaths. And he continues to care for Terry and Steve and me.
When I was in high school, Tim came home every Christmas Eve. I so looked forward to him being there. One Christmas Eve, we stayed up late watching Saturday Night Live, when Mom came walking into the living room with a bunch of large brown paper grocery sacks with the tops stapled closed. She sat them under the tree and said “Merry Christmas, night owls. Santa dropped these off and couldn’t stick around to wait for you to go to bed. No peeking. Good night.” She marched out of the room and we cracked up. And I’ll have you know, we did not peek.
Tim treated me like I was older. He gave me The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy for my birthday when most people would’ve said they were way above my reading level. When I turned 16, he gave me a sand castle. My grandson, Sawyer, asked me how the sand stuck together. I told him it was love that kept it together. Just like our family, and Tim. He’s the glue.
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