Ruled, ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ ᴋᴀᴠɪɴsᴋʏ

mothers know best

The moment I held my brother in my arms for the first time and he curled the tinniest of fingers around my pinky I began crying like a crazy women. Straight up sobbing, drenching his first pajamas with my happiness flooded tears. However he didn't seem to mind, he was calm, insanely calm for a baby born two months earlier. He was so small and so light, there are crayon boxes weighting more, and smelled so divine, I couldn't stop sniffing his head.  

When Amor was born I had thought she was the most beautiful baby, with her head full of brown hair, roused cheeks and bright green eyes, but the moment I saw my brother's light blue eyes stare back at me I knew she had been outrun, by a lot. I would have never imagined his eyes could be blue. Thomas had brown eyes and so had my mother, yet there he was, a tiny genetic wonder with the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen. His hair was practically nonexistent and he didn't seem to have much brow or eyelashes but it didn't matter. He was perfect.

God, he was so perfect I had forgotten he was a premature baby who needed extreme special care. I had forgotten he wasn't fully equipped to deal with life in our world, that his little body still had underdeveloped parts and his immune system was so weak I had to disinfect my hands every five minutes. When I remembered, I was scared to breath around him and I was scared to break him. Whenever I held him I became stiff as a boulder, trying not to move around too much, fearing if I did I'd rip one of his limbs off. 

He was so perfect I had forgotten he wasn't complete and perhaps he wasn't crying because he didn't have the strength to. That thought solely, slashed my heart in half. When the nurse came to take him away to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), my tears turned from happy to unhappy and I felt so incomplete it was as if my broken heart had been ripped off my chest and thrown at wild dogs. 

I had never felt so useless in my entire life.  It was so terrifying when the awful reality hit me I began shivering, panicking slightly but hiding it from my restless mother, who was as tired as she was scared. My brother wasn't safe, he was one infection away from slipping trough our fingers and dying before he even got the chance to live. 

That was the awful truth.

After holding my brother in my arms I knew I'd give my life away for his in less than a second. I had never known love like that. He occupied the entireness of my heart, there was nothing else beyond him. I felt like I was his protector for as long as I would live and It was despairing admitting there was nothing I could do about the situation. It was despairing admitting there was nothing I could do for him. It wasn't on me.

My chest ached and it was hard to breath. Nothing had ever felt so suffocating, and I just couldn't stop thinking about how silly I had been the past year. Crying and panicking over a boy breaking my heart when there were worse things that could happen to me. 

Having Peter break my heart again and again would never break me beyond repair but losing my brother would. Of a sudden, heartbreak or being heartbroken didn't seem half the nightmare it used to. 

Peter was still in the waiting room when It dawned on me I had left him alone for two long hours, without any new. It wasn't that I thought he'd ever leave, but the fact he lingered patiently waiting for my return meant a lot and got my chest burning with love. I was reminded why I loved him so much. He cared.

He was crouched over his stomach, his knees supporting his elbows as he scrolled his thumb down his phone. His curls were carelessly falling over his forehead, his eyes were drowsy and clearly he was tired, yet his beauty was ever present.

He must have sensed my presence in the room for his head lifted the moment I closed the maternity wing's door behind me and his eyes met mines instantly. Then he smiled, stood up, forgetting whatever he was doing on his phone, and walked to meet me by the door.