The way my family communicates is special, just like every other family. It was once described as 'high-functioning dysfunctional'.
Ugly drawers - pretty panties. That's my family.
We have our own language. Don't all siblings? Whether or not you're twins, there is something about being in the same learning space for decades, even if that space was as dynamic as our family's.
Until I got married, one of my nicknames was Timobe (TEE moh BEE). Andrew of course had to make it his own, calling me Timoble (teeMOHblee) whenever he could.
Right now, the ebb and flow of this language of ours is temporarily muted. Andrew can't leave me any more of the insane voicemails he loves leaving me until he wakes up from his induced coma. That fight I can't fight for him. I can't even fight it for my mother, down in Costa Rica sitting and praying with him whenever she has an opportunity.
This writing is my prayer. My fight. My heart is the pen of a ready writer, and I am reminded of the many victories of my family. Some have been told. Some I ponder in my heart.
I was texting with a musician-pal of mine about collaborating on a song. We finalized plans and I confirmed.
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Cooliyoshi - A Family Word
© Tiffany Monique – May 2015 |
I say it all the time. Never a thought about it's lexicology.
My brother Andrew taught it to me, without even meaning to. Just one of those random things we'd say to one another.
Our language, the family language, grew that way within the core of our interactions. Upon entry into adulthood some things stayed with us. Some things didn't.
Heard yesterday that he was more active than they'd seen since he collapsed in Costa Rica on April 11th. Eyes opening, moving his lips, and even a yawn! No news from the doctors, but I'd say Andrew is "tired" of being in bed, and perhaps wanting some non-hospital sanctioned food.
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