Two weeks had gone by and Trot hadn't uttered a word about his brother being gone. I think he was too busy thinking about going to the pool with Miss Raina from next door, playing with their dog Toto and plotting his eventual takeover of the world through the twin barreled action of urine and shattering everyone within a country mile's eardrums with his voice. Honestly, I was starting to wonder if he had just forgot he had a brother and was just happily content being the only male under the age of 41 in the house.
All my worries went out the window within the first 45 minutes of Rakes hitting the driveway.
According to Ang he spent the first 15 minutes Rakes was home yelling "I love you, Rakes!" and "You're my best friend, Rakes!" and quickly moved onto giggling like a maniac at everything his older brother said and by the time I got home from work was merrily trying to hit his beloved sibling as hard and as many times as possible square in the marbles.
On a related note, it was wicked nice to have my game watching little buddy back on the couch with me where he belongs. After I said his prayers with him, tucked him in, and kissed him goodnight I stopped at his door and told him I loved him.
"Tell me who won in the morning, Dad."
Welcome home, Rakes.
On friendship and (more) healing.
8 hours ago