I told him I was telling him now, in order for him to have time to say goodbye to his friends, to pick out the things he wanted to take with him, and to do anything else he wanted before it was time to go. For some reason, I decided to tell him before he took his shower. He does that before he goes to bed. This particular night, he was so angry with me, with us, that he was shaking. He skipped his shower and went straight upstairs, doors slamming so hard I thought for sure that the glass would burst from the panes.
The younger brother had already been sent to bed early, as my patience wasn't very willing to cope with more than one meltdown at a time. As soon as the angry one went upstairs, we called the younger brother back down. He peeked into the living room with his eyes wide, fear written all over his face. He knew things weren't going well. He knew what anger looked like. He just had never seen it at this magnitude before from his usually "chill" brother.
That night, for the first time ever, the sister said to the younger brother, "You can sleep in my room. The bottom bunk is made up already." And that was the end of that. Two kids, huddled in the same room, afraid of the same person that they love, and yet enjoying a small amount of peace just knowing that they would look out for the other. My heart warmed a teensy bit,
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