You tried to avoid this position for a while, working through your own frustration and anger, all a crossbreed of fear and helplessness. But the situation found you at your doorstep one evening,11:22pm, fifty pounds underweight, frail and quivering. Panthing for the drink that has no taste or color, tormented. Crying for a help without knowing how to spell it. Homesickness shattered the glass of its mind, holding hostage and demanding that it get into the car and drive 9 hours until it found something that felt or looked or tasted like a morsel of home.
Meanwhile, you wished to play hot potato and carry on with your routine acts but this time you could not. While cornered, something clicked. The switch was flipped. Voltage blasting memories, a flashing slideshow, images where love was there for you through hospitalizations, wounded knees, warm fresh rolls and danishes on Saturday mornings, a lifetime sprinkled with kindnesses all throughout. You rose up. This is my situation. My blood. This is my opportunity, to be love, because I am my brother's keeper. That's what you said. You stopped the thinking. And you let yourself bleed an oilspill of love.